Chapter 443: [443] Separate Departures, Lion King’s Dream
A name is the shortest spell in existence.
Just as Seimei told Minamoto-no-Hiromasa in Onmyouji, the shortest spell in this world is a "name."
A name signifies existence; the transition from nameless to named represents the journey from nothingness to possession.
Who you believe yourself to be is who you will likely become. If you continually define your future with a certain "name," your destiny will inevitably be influenced by that spell, steering you toward that path.
This philosophical theory applies equally to the homunculus girl—Sieg. Since she chose to emulate the name of that great hero out of admiration, it meant her life was destined to be extraordinary.
"In the original story, the homunculus who inherited this name returned to the battlefield and ultimately transformed into a dragon, carrying the Greater Grail into the inner side of the Holy Grail. Was that, too, the influence of this name?"
Sakatsuki didn’t know. But if he had resolved to use her as a pawn to disrupt the Black Faction, he shouldn’t have given her a name in the first place.
Yet, perhaps it was the inescapable loop of fate—within the short time he was away, the homunculus girl, guided by Jeanne d’Arc, had once again become Sieg.
Looking at the silver-haired, crimson-eyed Sieg, whose delicate features were now marked with determination, Sakatsuki sighed helplessly and cut straight to the point: "I’m leaving."
He and Reika had already made their preparations, luring both the Red and Black factions to Sighișoara. As the mastermind behind the scenes, it was time for him to depart and oversee the grand scheme.
"But Sieg, you won’t be coming with me."
The homunculus opened her mouth to speak, but Sakatsuki interrupted her: "Don’t forget—you are now a Master of the Black Faction, while I belong to the Red. Our allegiances are opposed."
"Wait," Jeanne interjected, sensing something amiss. "Sieg hasn’t decided to join the Black Faction yet, has she? She just escaped from there!"
Yet, the moment Jeanne finished speaking, the homunculus raised her hand timidly and said:
"Um, Miss Jeanne... I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided to go back after all."
"Why?" Jeanne asked, incredulous. "You’ve already secured a peaceful life here. This village won’t be touched by the flames of the Holy Grail War. You could even use it as a stepping stone to travel to other countries, to explore the world properly. So why...?"
Why choose to return to that brutal battlefield?
"Because my wish lies there," Sieg replied, meeting the Ruler’s gaze before lowering her eyes to the Command Spell on the back of her hand. "I know that if I take just one step forward, I could have that life—a life where I can survive, gain something, perhaps even find hope."
It was for that single step that one hero had healed her, another had granted her life, and stood by her side.
Everything had been for that one step.
Yet, in her pursuit of freedom, the homunculus realized she had unwittingly changed.
"I know this might sound ungrateful to the heroes who saved me, but... my wish is no longer just about surviving."
As she spoke, Sieg remembered the words Sakatsuki had shared with her about her fellow homunculi along the way.
Existing as expendable beings, meeting meaningless deaths—as if this were their only destined path...
"Steeped in the juices of decay, living in constant fear. Death is a certainty shared by all things, but to have even the journey toward death dictated, to be allowed to do nothing... that is simply unreasonable. Too tragic."
It was hard to imagine that Sieg, whose life span strictly speaking amounted to mere days, could speak so candidly about his thoughts before Jeanne d’Arc and Sakatsuki.
"Just as I was saved by Rider, I will save them too. That way, I believe I can meet Rider again with a clear conscience. I can stand tall and say I helped those seeking freedom—"
"Beyond that, you also wish to reunite with the Black Rider, don’t you?"
Jeanne d’Arc gazed intently at Sieg, noticing the shy smile that appeared when Rider was mentioned.
Ah, how could she have overlooked this most fundamental human emotion?
"Longing for that maiden knight (Note: the term is correct)... What a precious sentiment."
Yet as Jeanne murmured this to herself, her expression darkened involuntarily.
This wasn’t what the Black Rider, Astolfo, would have wanted for the homunculus, was it? But setting aside unnecessary emotions, she was moving through this Holy Grail War as the Ruler.
"In that case, I won’t stop you, Miss Sieg. You were born connected to this Great Holy Grail War, and of course I wish to respect your intentions. May your future endeavors bring you what you seek."
At this point, Jeanne turned to Sakatsuki, who was smiling contentedly, and couldn’t help but pout.
"As for you, Mr. Sakatsuki... Why do you look so pleased?"
Naturally, it’s because Sieg’s actions align with my expectations... Sakatsuki schooled his expression and looked seriously at the homunculus preparing to depart. "Since you’ve made up your mind, let me, as your teacher, give you one final lesson."
The afternoon sun was warm and bright as the young man stood in the shadows cast by the house, murmuring softly:
"Know your place, Sieg. You’re not some protagonist here to save the world—you’re a pioneer standing up for the survival of homunculi, nothing more."
"No life is special. Once you step onto the battlefield, we all face the possibility of being expended."
"Don’t die before achieving your wish, Sieg." Sakatsuki’s gaze lingered meaningfully on the Command Spell on the homunculus’s hand. "Hold onto your power. Only then will you have the right to stand on that stage."
————
Sieg set out, heading toward the Black faction to fight for her fellow homunculi.
Jeanne departed—as the Ruler, she was destined to move where Servants gathered.
And Sakatsuki, after bidding farewell to the elderly Celsus, also began walking toward Sighișoara.
Yet at the road’s end, the young man turned back as if sensing something. The events in that small house still fluttered like a beautiful butterfly’s wings, stirring storms in his tranquil heart.
"Such an adorable, easy-to-tease saint..."
Unable to suppress the upturned corners of his lips, yet dissatisfied, he wiped them away. The ruthless and indifferent assassin flicked his black robe, scattering platinum spiritual particles that vanished in an instant.
Along with the wounds that never healed.
And even Sakatsuki didn’t know that earlier that morning, a battle-hardened mercenary had a dream.
In that dream, he saw the distant, bygone era of Great Britain.
Participants of the Holy Grail War often had dreams—likely due to the deep spiritual connection between Master and Servant.
Through dreams, they glimpsed each other’s pasts. This phenomenon had occurred in both the Third Holy Grail War and its subcategory wars.
—So, when Kairi Sisigou suddenly found himself standing on a battlefield, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
"...Well, this kind of thing happens."
This must be the past of his Servant, Mordred. When he came to his senses, she stood beside him, gripping her beloved weapon—the radiant Clarent—which had proven useful in this Holy Grail War.
Originally, this wasn’t her sword. It belonged to King Arthur, stored in the armory as a symbol of the throne.
Mordred had seized it, declared herself king, and incited a massive rebellion. Now, she held it in her hand, challenging King Arthur alone.
"So, this is Camlann?"
Yes, this was Camlann Hill—the battlefield where the rebellious knight Mordred and King Arthur fought their final battle. The glorious tale of knights came to a tragic end here.
Arrows pierced lightly armored foot soldiers, but Mordred, clad head to toe in steel, ignored all attacks, charging forward relentlessly.
King Arthur had united Britain with unparalleled charisma. Yet why did so many soldiers support Mordred’s rebellion?
The unification was nearly complete, and war-weariness had spread—that was one reason.
The scandal between the Knight of the Lake, Lancelot, praised as flawless, and Queen Guinevere had shattered the king’s authority—that was another.
The knights harbored a strange mix of fear and disdain for a king too pure, too devoid of personal bias—that was yet another.
But there was one more reason—the rebellious knight herself.
As Kairi watched the battlefield, he understood clearly: Mordred’s fighting style was savage. The swordsmanship knights took pride in crumbled like brittle twigs before her.
As if driven purely by instinct, yet executing the most efficient slaughter. The soldiers following her were equally fervent, their steps thundering like war drums—a melody of human instinct unleashed.
—Like a natural disaster, a whirlwind of destruction.
Her strength was undeniable, laced with a touch of madness. But on the battlefield, that madness was the most praiseworthy trait.
Monstrously powerful, storming through enemies like a tempest. Soldiers followed her, intoxicated by her fury.
—Just how far can this frenzied warrior go? I long to witness it all.
At its core, this fanatical devotion to the ’new king’ was the soldiers’ driving force. Yet no matter how high their morale soared, their strength had limits. Their numbers dwindled one by one—hundreds, then thousands, were annihilated in succession.
Mordred never looked back. Victory would naturally bring more soldiers—no, more people—to her side. That was how she saw it.
Beneath her beast-like swordplay, the corpses of foot soldiers piled high, yet Mordred paid them no heed. Her focus remained solely on one person—her father, the King of Knights.
"Where is King Arthur?! Where is the King of Knights?!"
The rebellious knight’s furious roar echoed endlessly across the hills of Camlann.
And thus, the sacred King of Knights made their appearance as desired.