A faint glow pulsed in the vast emptiness of space, illuminating the void with a brilliance that rivaled the stars. Artoria stood at the center of a cosmic dance, her body suspended in the firmament, wrapped in a golden radiance that ebbed and flowed like the tides of destiny itself.
The sun blazed behind her, its light cascading across the planets that revolved around her as if she were their true axis, their sovereign. The King of the World.
She had known this moment would come.
Merlin had spoken of it in cryptic riddles, foretelling a trial that would separate the hero from the warrior, the sovereign from the soldier. She had not questioned it then, nor did she now.
But as the celestial radiance engulfed her, she had not expected to find herself here.
The light faded, and the world shifted.
The starlit cosmos disappeared, replaced by a bleak and bitter past—a time before Excalibur, before knights bowed to her, before she carried the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders.
A village of filth and decay stretched before her. Smoke from burning thatch roofs filled the air, the stench of unwashed bodies and damp earth an all-too-familiar presence.
She was ten years old again.
Her hands, small and rough with calluses, gripped a wooden bucket filled with water. She stood outside a simple stable, its roof barely holding against the winds of the coming storm. A familiar weight pressed against her heart as memories came rushing back—this was the past she had lived, unchanged, unaltered.
A sharp yell broke through the twilight.
"Oi, girl! Where's my sword?!"
She turned her head and saw him—the Knight.
A gruff man with a body built for war, his eyes like flint, hardened by years of battle and bloodshed. He was not a cruel man by nature, but neither was he kind. He was practical, unyielding. To him, she was a servant, a tool, an extra pair of hands to polish armor and tend to the horses.
And yet, she owed him her life.
Without him, she would have been another forgotten child, another nameless girl abandoned to the streets.
At that time, her world was small.
She cleaned his son's armor, scrubbed the floors, watched their spars with quiet awe. She did not think of herself as worthy of such things. She did not believe she would ever wield a blade, stand as an equal among them.
But she watched.
She studied.
And, without realizing it, she learned.
She could see the way they moved, the flaws in their stance, the wasted motion in their swings. She mimicked them in secret, copying their steps in the dead of night with a stick in place of a sword.
She had been hesitant at first. Who was she to speak?
And yet, she had chosen to speak.
She had stood before the Knight and told him what she had seen. Told him of the weaknesses in his son's form. Told him that his men's footwork was sloppy. Told him that she, a mere stablehand, knew how to correct it.
She had spoken the truth.
And for that, she had been beaten near to death.
The scene replayed before her like a cruel memory come to life. She stood outside the Knight's chamber, her body still aching from the blows she had endured.
Blood stained her tunic, her breathing ragged, but she did not weep.
She did not beg.
Then, a voice called out from the void.
"Will you change what has transpired? Or do you regret it?"
Artoria did not hesitate.
"I regret nothing."
She would do it again.
Even knowing the pain, the suffering, the scorn—she would stand by her truth.
Her fingers curled into a fist as she stepped forward, her resolve unshaken.
She would tell him again.
Even if it meant enduring the same pain.
Even if it meant breaking once more.
Because she was Artoria.
The King of the World.
And a true hero never faltered before the weight of destiny.
--------------------
The world around her shifted once more.
Artoria found herself fourteen years old now—older, wiser, yet still far from the woman she would one day become.
At this age, she had already left behind the life of a servant, stepping into a new path as Merlin's pupil. The enigmatic mage had appeared when she turned twelve, offering knowledge and a future beyond the narrow confines of servitude. She had followed him without hesitation.
She still remembered the awe she had felt upon witnessing his magic for the first time.
The sheer impossibility of his existence had fascinated her.
His wisdom, his power, his boundless knowledge—he was unlike anything she had ever known.
And so, she followed.
She traveled with him across the land, learning of the world in ways she had never imagined. Geography, history, politics, magic, swordsmanship—Merlin had insisted on everything. No subject was left untouched, no lesson skipped. He drilled her relentlessly, pushing her beyond her limits in every discipline.
At the time, she hadn't understood why.
She had simply assumed he was a perfectionist, a man obsessed with knowledge, eager to pass it on to his student.
But now, standing in the echoes of the past, she understood.
It had all been for this.
The past unfolded before her. She stood at the gates of a town, just as she had back then.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and rot.
She saw them—the crucified bodies.
Some were fresh, others were nothing but rotting husks, their bones picked clean by scavengers. The sight had unsettled her then, and it unsettled her now.
Many were dead. But some still clung to life, their ragged breaths filled with pain and desperation.
Artoria had been too young to truly grasp the full horror of it all back then. But even as a child, she had known cruelty when she saw it.
This town was ruled by a tyrant—a lord who wielded power without restraint.
And the people suffered for it.
At the time, she had tried to ignore it.
She had glanced at Merlin, expecting him to act, to do something.
But he had done nothing.
And so, she had done nothing.
She told herself that it wasn't her place. That she was just a student, a traveler passing through.
But then, she saw it.
City guards, laughing as they beat a group of men into the dirt.
Their crime? Trying to protect their women.
The women were dragged away, screaming, their fates all but sealed.
And Artoria did nothing.
That night, she could not sleep.
The screams haunted her.
The sight of bloodied men lying helplessly in the streets burned into her mind.
Regret coiled in her chest, suffocating her.
She turned to Merlin.
"Why didn't you do anything?" she had asked, anger laced in her voice.
He had only smiled—that infuriating, knowing smile.
"I am only a guide, my dear Artoria. What you decide is up to you. What do you desire?"
The words had struck her like a blade to the heart.
What did she desire?
Justice.
She wanted to end the suffering.
She wanted to strike down the cruelty of mankind, no matter the cost.
And so, she had acted.
She had gone to the men who had been beaten, the ones who had lost their wives and daughters.
With her wit and magic, she had helped them infiltrate the lord's palace. She had freed the prisoners, cut down the guards that stood in her way.
She had done what she believed was right.
And for a moment, it had felt like victory.
But then, chaos had taken hold.
Someone—one of the prisoners she had freed—had struck the final blow.
The lord had died.
With his death, law and order crumbled.
The town fell into anarchy.
Without a ruler, without structure, the people descended into madness. Riots broke out. Thieves ran rampant. Houses burned. The streets turned red with blood.
And in the end, the higher powers responded with force.
The army came.
And many, many people died.
As the past unfolded before her once more, the ethereal voice returned.
"Do you regret your choice here? Do you wish to change the past?"
Artoria understood now why this moment had been chosen.
It had been a defining moment in her life—the moment she had chosen her path.
She had believed in justice, and she had acted upon it.
But justice was not so simple.
Would she have done things differently, knowing what she knew now?
Of course.
She had been young, naive, reckless.
But did she regret it?
No.
"I regret nothing," she said.
"I did what I did to bring justice to the evil of mankind."
"It may have caused chaos in the beginning, but from the ashes, the city became better than ever. Because the lords learned that they could face consequences."
She stood by her actions.
She would not erase them.
She would not undo them.
Because that was the day she truly became the hero she was meant to be.
The world shifted, the past unfolding before her once more.
She was sixteen now.
She stood in Camelot, in the heart of a kingdom fractured by war.
Before her, the sword in the stone.
A relic of legend. A weapon left behind by the immortals for the founding king, inscribed with an eternal decree:
"Whosoever wields this sword shall be the rightful King of England."
Once, it had been a beacon of hope. But the people had forgotten hope.
The royalty had torn itself apart—schemes, betrayals, endless infighting.
The kingdom had shattered.
And with no ruler, civil war erupted.
The suffering of the people had been unbearable.
Artoria had tried to help.
She had fought alongside the innocent, defended the weak, shielded the helpless.
But no matter how many lives she saved, she could not save England.
The war was too great, the wounds too deep.
It was then that she recalled the legend of the sword.
Merlin had only smiled, offering no answers—only a hint.
She had run to it.
To the sword in the stone.
Standing before it now, she felt nostalgia.
This had been her first true sword, before Excalibur took its place.
She remembered the cold touch of the metal beneath her fingers. The weight of destiny pressing upon her shoulders.
She had grasped the hilt—
And she had pulled.
But now, as she stood in the echoes of her past, the voice returned.
This time, it was different.
"My name is Alya, the will of the world. My chosen King, do you regret taking up this sword?"
The will of the world itself had spoken.
Artoria closed her eyes.
She could still remember the battles that followed.
The bloodshed.
The screams.
Not everyone had accepted her rule. Not everyone had believed in a magical sword choosing their king.
Many had resisted.
Many had died.
But it had been necessary.
"I don't regret it," she said.
"Without it, many more would have perished. The continent would have fallen into ruin."
Alya's voice remained calm.
"I see. But what about you, Artoria? Did you not lose everything once you took up that sword? Your freedom. Your innocence."
Artoria paused.
Memories rose from the fog of time—a life before the crown.
The mountains and forests.
Days of peace. Of learning. Of laughter.
The simple joys of hunting, studying, sharing meals with friends, free from the burden of destiny.
Gone.
All of it, lost the moment she took the sword.
She had not only become a king.
She had become a symbol—a ruler bound to duty, sacrificing herself for the world.
But in the end, did it truly matter?
Would she have been free if she had turned away?
No.
"I would have lost it either way," she said at last.
"It was better to pick up the sword and fight for justice than to die under the sword of another."
Alya was silent for a moment.
Then—
"I am happy with your choice."
The world shifted once again.
This time, it was not the past.
She stood in a land that defied all logic.
And yet, it was still Earth.
But Earth should not be like this.
The ground was not soil, but a vast, endless terrain of food.
The very land had been reshaped into something... unnatural.
"What is this?" Artoria asked, hoping for an answer.
And then—she saw him.
A man, yet not a man.
An Otsutsuki.
But not the ones of legend. No, this was something different.
One of Konoha's creations.
A manufactured Otsutsuki, born from human hands.
And Artoria already knew who it was.
"This land was once a kingdom in the Land of Fire," Alya's voice explained.
"But now, it has become something else—under the influence of Choji Akimichi.
Artoria's grip on her lance tightened.
"His Otsutsuki power took over his mind. It reshaped the world around him. He is not alone. One by one, all of them fell to the influence. Now the world is divided between them, and the people have shifted to whatever reality they deem to be the truth."
Artoria's gaze swept across the landscape.
What were once towns had become hunting grounds.
What were once cities had become kitchens.
The people had become hunters, cooks, and prey—completely lost in his domain.
They had forgotten who they once were.
And at the center of it all—
Choji Akimichi cooked using the very materials of the land.
Artoria looked at herself.
She was clad in powerful white and blue armor, radiating an unshakable presence.
In her hands—
A lance, crackling with the power of the world itself.
A divine weapon, forged for a single purpose.
It was clear why she was here.
She was here to slay Choji Akimichi.
But Artoria hesitated.
She had only met Naruto once—
But that meeting was enough.
Enough to see that they were the same type of person.
If she killed Choji, she would be killing one of his people.
This would lead to conflict.
And yet—justice demanded action.
Artoria made her choice.
She would not kill without trying to reason first.
She spoke to him—
But he did not hear her.
No—he did not even see her as an equal.
To him, she was prey.
Choji moved.
Grew.
His form expanded, reaching the size of the moon before suddenly shrinking back to a humanoid size.
But now—
Bluish ethereal butterfly wings spread from his back, their size greater than mountains.
He had become something else entirely.
And then—
The voice of Alya echoed once more.
"Do you regret your choice of being the King?"
Artoria did not hesitate.
"I do not regret anything."
"Personal matters will not come between my duty and justice."
She raised her lance.
"I shall try my best to capture the target."
The battle began.
The battle was a close call.
Choji was not the same man she once knew.
He was a beast, an immortal of hunger, reshaped by the power that had consumed him.
Artoria had given her all—
And yet, even as her lance pierced his heart, he did not stop smiling.
"Heh... so this is it, huh?"
His massive, immortal form shrank as his body crumbled into golden dust.
And for a brief moment—
He was just Choji again.
"Sorry, Naruto... looks like I lost."
And then—he was gone.
Artoria did not allow herself to feel guilt.
It had to be done.
But she knew—
This was far from over.
The scene shifted.
Artoria found herself elsewhere—
But there was no doubt where she was.
The land was cracked, broken, scorched by the sheer power that had been unleashed here.
The sky was dark, and the winds carried the scent of burning metal and blood.
And standing before her—
Was Naruto Uzumaki.
But this was not the Naruto she had met before.
He was clad in black armor, forged from the void, lined with crimson etchings that pulsed like living veins.
His eyes—
They were not human.
They burned with power, with anger, with the weight of a man who had lost something he could never get back.
"You killed him."
Naruto's voice was low, calm—but beneath it, Artoria could hear the storm raging within.
"I tried to capture him," Artoria replied.
"But in the end, there was no choice."
Naruto was silent for a moment.
Then—
BOOM.
The ground beneath them shattered as he took a single step forward.
"No choice?"
His black gauntlet tightened into a fist.
"Then I have no choice either."
Artoria raised her lance—
Because she already knew.
This was a battle that could not be avoided.
And so, King and Emperor clashed.
Artoria found herself floating in an endless void.
It was not dark, nor was it light—it simply was.
And then—
Alya spoke.
"I am satisfied with your choices, my King."
Her voice was neither warm nor cold.
It was absolute.
"You have proven your resolve. You do not regret the path you have walked, so I shall grant you access to my gift."
Artoria remained silent for a moment.
Then, she asked the question weighing on her mind.
"Is this real?"
Alya chuckled—soft, ethereal.
"Reality is but a collection of possibilities. This is one of them."
Artoria frowned.
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only answer that exists."
Alya's voice echoed through the void, carrying a weight Artoria could not describe.
She took a breath, steadied herself, and asked:
"Was Naruto a part of your plan?"
For the first time—
Alya hesitated.
Then, she answered:
"He should have been."
Her voice carried the slightest hint of something akin to regret.
"But now, he is a threat that must be stopped."
Artoria's grip on her lance tightened.
"Why?"
Alya's response was instant.
"Because he will push us all into a war that will destroy many realities."
The words settled like a weight upon Artoria's shoulders.
Alya continued, her tone unwavering.
"Without him, you can keep away from the Otsutsuki. You can create a utopia. But with him—"
The void rippled, and Artoria felt something shift.
"With him, you shall face the wrath of the Otsutsuki."
Artoria's expression darkened.
She knew of the Otsutsuki.
But this—this was something more.
"The Otsutsuki are already a problem. What makes this different?"
Alya's voice softened, almost as if she were revealing a terrible truth.
"You do not understand the truth of the multiverse, Artoria."
"The Otsutsuki you have encountered are merely remnants—shadows of what they once were."
"The true rulers of the multiverse are beings unfathomable to mortals and even to us."
The void quivered around them.
Artoria felt something watching.
"The parable of them and us is simple."
Alya's voice turned distant.
"We are like characters in a book."
"They are the ones writing it."
Artoria exhaled.
It was a lot to take in—
Too much.
But she was Artoria Pendragon.
And she never shied away from the truth.
She met the emptiness head-on.
Artoria stood at the heart of the void, surrounded by endless nothingness. The weight of Alya's words pressed upon her shoulders, heavier than any armor she had ever worn.
"You may not want to betray him, but your choices will lead you to battle against him."
Her fingers twitched around the hilt of her lance.
"The Artificial Ōtsutsuki threat cannot be neutralized without a life-and-death battle," Alya continued, her voice calm, indifferent. "How many of them will you kill? And when he knows… what will he do?"
Artoria exhaled slowly, steadying her heart.
She did not deny the truth in those words.
Long ago, she had believed that victory was won through ideals, through righteousness. But time had taught her the harshest of lessons.
A hero was not a savior.
A hero was a weapon.
She had cut down enemies before, had stained her blade with blood for the sake of peace. This would be no different.
But Naruto…
Naruto would never accept that cost.
She had only met him once, but she knew him. He would fight for peace, he would protect his own, but he would never cross the final line willingly.
And that was why they would clash.
Not because of betrayal.
But because they were two rulers walking different paths toward the same goal.
Artoria turned her gaze upward, staring into the vast emptiness of the cosmos.
"How many will I kill?" she repeated, her voice steady.
There was no answer to that question.
How many would force her hand? How many would stand between her and the survival of her people?
It did not matter.
If they stood before her as enemies, they would fall.
Ōtsutsuki, human, or something in between.
If they threatened the world, she would erase them.
"And what will Naruto do?" Alya whispered.
Artoria's grip on her lance tightened.
"That is for him to decide."
Naruto would learn of the battles she fought, the enemies she slew, the decisions she made that he would never make himself.
And then, he would choose.
Would he see her as an ally?
Or as a monster?
Would he understand?
Or would he stand against her?
Would he forgive her?
Or would he be the one to cut her down?
Alya did not respond. She did not need to.
Artoria had already accepted it.
She did not fear the battle to come.
If Naruto opposed her—if the day came when his ideals and her choices could not coexist—
Then they would meet on the battlefield.
And as she had done a thousand times before, Artoria would raise her sword.
"Then receive my will."
Alya's words echoed through the void, and suddenly—
The cosmos split open.
A radiant lance of pure light descended, so vast in size that Artoria could not see its end. It stretched beyond the stars, beyond the limits of perception.
A divine weapon.
A pillar that held the world together.
"This is Rhongomyniad—the Lance that Shines to the End of the World."
Alya's voice was soft, but absolute.
"It is the pillar of light that upholds this world. The embodiment of order itself. And now… it is yours."
Artoria stared, awestruck.
She could feel it.
The weight of the world within that weapon.
Slowly, she stepped forward.
Each movement felt sacred, as though she were approaching something beyond mortal understanding.
She reached out—
And the moment her fingertips brushed the radiant surface, the void exploded with light.
A great force engulfed her, lifting her from the emptiness.
For a brief moment, she saw everything.
The past. The present. The infinite futures.
And then—
She descended.
When she opened her eyes, she was clad in resplendent armor. White and blue, woven with the power of the world itself.
And in her grasp—
Rhongomyniad had shrunk to a manageable size.
A spear fit for a warrior.
A weapon fit for a king.
Alya's voice echoed once more.
"The power is immense, even for you."
"You must grow into it. Until then, I have placed seals upon the lance. With time, you will unseal them all."
"You have made your choice. And I have made mine."
"I will watch over you, Artoria."
"When you need me—I shall guide you."
As Artoria vanished from the cosmic realm, Alya remained.
A presence unseen, yet ever-present.
The Will of the World observed.
And she was displeased.
Her gaze stretched beyond the solar system—toward a single existence.
Naruto Uzumaki.
A being who should have stood beside Artoria.
A being who should have been her greatest warrior.
But he had fallen.
He had become Ōtsutsuki.
And Alya despised those creatures.
Ōtsutsuki were parasites.
Foreign invaders who plundered worlds, devoured planets, and feasted upon their life force.
If Naruto had remained human, she would have blessed him.
He would have been a pillar, a protector, one who stood beside Artoria in defense of this world.
But that was impossible now.
He had tainted himself.
And for that—
Alya blamed Hagoromo.
It was his failure. His flawed ideology.
He had given humanity chakra—a power they should never have wielded. And now look where they stood.
Naruto had led them down a path of ruin.
Because of him, the people of this world had begun to devour one another.
This new power spreading through humanity…
It was wrong.
It was unnatural.
Alya could see the future.
This world—her world—was on the brink of destruction.
A feeding ground.
An Ōtsutsuki nest.
And it was all Naruto's fault.
"Hagoromo… you were a fool."
She whispered into the void.
"You believed in peace, but your choices have only led to destruction."
"I will show you the truth."
Her gaze returned to Artoria.
Her chosen king.
The one who would lead the world down the correct path.
She would undo the damage Naruto had caused.
She would prove that Alya's way was right.
And if the time came—
If Artoria had to face him—
If she had to strike down the last remnant of Hagoromo's dream—
Then so be it.