The duel between Kay and Gray was indeed fierce, but it paled in comparison to the battle between the two kings.
Whether in terms of the scale of their spiritual foundations, the output of magical energy, or the sheer intensity of their clashes—even the sounds they made—it was on a completely different level.
Iskandar's loyal steed Bucephalus had already reverted to the Gordius Wheel.
Despite becoming a Heroic Spirit, Bucephalus was still an ordinary horse and could not compare to the divine bulls that represented Zeus. Shortly after the battle began, it could no longer withstand the aftershocks of thunder and storm, and it dispersed into the heavens.
As for the King who bore the title of Knight, Artoria had become a foot soldier even earlier than Iskandar, fighting alone with her sword against the Conqueror King and his remaining guards.
At this moment, the two kings were no longer fighting for themselves but more for their supporters, for their comrades.
Indeed, less than one-tenth of the Army of the King remained, and the Knights of the Round Table had been reduced to one.
However, what had vanished was only their physical forms; their spirits, their souls, still stood by their kings.
The wishes of the dead had been entrusted to the living, and the living carried the beliefs of the dead, continuing the fight.
The words of comrades constantly echoed in the ears of the two kings:
"My King, you must win the final victory."
"My King, do not lose."
"Conquer! Conquer! Conquer!"
"Protect! Protect! Protect!"
Unknowingly, both kings had reached their limits and then surpassed them. Yet, they could not stop, nor would they stop.
Because to stop would be to betray their comrades and allies.
This war, this battle of beliefs, could not be lost at any cost.
"Charge, my bulls! Trample them, my chariot! This is the conquest of the King!"
The chariot rumbled, galloping wildly through the skies.
"O Holy Sword, fill with light, illuminate our belief in protection, and bring us the final victory."
The Holy Sword shone, gathering infinite starlight.
"Let this charge bear witness to the might of the King!"
The Gordius Wheel traced a giant arc through the air, transforming into a rushing torrent of green, surging forward.
"With this sword, I uphold my beliefs!"
Golden light erupted, suppressing the reversed whirlwind. The radiant brilliance gathered, unleashing immense magical power to showcase the King's chivalry.
"This is the moment! — Via Expugnatio (Distant Trampling Domination)!!!"
With the release of its true name, the divine bull chariot burst forth with lightning and thunder. The thundering roar it emitted was far beyond anything it had shown before.
"AAAALaLaLaLaLaie!!!"
With the Conqueror King's battle cry, the iron hooves thundered through the air, charging forward like a raging tsunami.
Ahead, the strongest anti-fortress Noble Phantasm was about to unleash its light. Under the overwhelming pressure of the charging chariot, Waver struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting to stay conscious. He had to witness Iskandar's final charge with his own eyes.
At the same time, Artoria also raised her Holy Sword.
Indeed, the Conqueror King's frontal charge stirred within her a sense of long-forgotten fear. In an instant, the divine bull's sprint had covered a hundred meters. In the blink of an eye, the massive form of the Gordius Wheel loomed like a tsunami, crashing towards her.
But as long as she held her sword, Artoria believed she would not lose. The golden light surged, and the great Knight King loudly invoked the one true name:
"Ex—"
Just as the god-like figure of the charging chariot was about to trample her under its iron hooves—
"—Calibur! (Sword of Promised Victory)"
Golden light shot forth like a comet, illuminating the darkness of the world in a blinding white.
The dazzling flash pierced Waver's eyes, blinding him and forcing him to look away. Yet, in the end, he did not avert his gaze. Even as tears streamed from his eyes and his vision blurred, he kept watching.
He saw the Thunder Chariot crumble under the light of the strongest Star of the Holy Sword.
He saw the divine bulls, known for their tenacity, let out one final wail before turning to ashes.
And he saw the heroic figure of his King, still fighting.
Though the Noble Phantasm clash had been lost, the battle's outcome had not yet been decided. Even in destruction, the bulls and chariot had bought Iskandar enough time to close the final distance. Before Artoria could withdraw her sword, he swung his short sword and roared as he aimed for her head.
"Prepare yourself, Knight King/Conqueror King!!!"
Artoria, too, shouted as she delivered the deciding blow. It wasn't with the Holy Sword, nor with the Holy Lance, but with a black scythe—one of the most commonly used forms of the sealed Holy Lance, the Scythe of Death.
This transformation caught Iskandar off guard. He parried her sword with one swing, but the blade of the scythe plunged into his chest—no matter how skilled he was, Iskandar could not match Artoria, who had already stepped into the realm of the divine in terms of martial prowess.
"It's over."
Iskandar sighed in relief.
"Yes, it is."
Artoria showed no sign of joy in her victory. Her expression was solemn, showing respect for the Conqueror King. Though their paths were different, Iskandar was undoubtedly a worthy opponent.
"My King!"
Faker's cry was filled with anguish as she desperately broke through Merlin's barrier, her hair disheveled as she staggered forward.
"No, it's not over yet. I still have one last means, my final duty."
Her lips moved swiftly, uttering an ancient incantation in a language from the Age of Gods. Translated into modern terms, it meant: "In the name of Iskandar, I shall bear all calamities in his stead."
This was the ultimate form of her substitution magecraft.
This was the true duty Olympia had bestowed upon Faker and the reason the shadow warrior called herself the Last Shield.
Once this spell was cast, all of Iskandar's injuries would be transferred to Faker, allowing him to continue fighting unscathed. In Artoria's exhausted state after the fierce battle, he could claim final victory.
However, just before the spell could take form, the heavily injured Iskandar suddenly threw his sword, striking Faker on the head. The blow knocked her down and interrupted her final act of sacrifice.
"My King!"
Faker's expression twisted in confusion, completely unable to understand why Iskandar would make such a choice.
"Fool."
The giant of a man, now using the last of his strength, leaned back as he collapsed, smiling and cursing at the same time.
"I told you before, I don't need you to do anything unnecessary. You, like Hephaestion, are not just my subordinate, but my partner, my sibling—decided long before I became a King."
"Though, unfortunately, I lost the duel with the Knight King, what kind of elder brother would allow his sister to sacrifice herself? That would make me unworthy of being a King, and even unworthy of being a man. I couldn't stop it in life, but I won't let the same thing happen again in death."
"So, my dear sister—"
The more he spoke, the lower his voice became, his tone growing softer. At this moment, he was no longer the unparalleled King but simply an ordinary elder brother.
"Live well, in my place, in the place of all of us, and see the world. Not as a shadow warrior, but as an independent, free person—starting with your name."