In the end, Summer's memories continued until Altria, in Salisbury, had knocked over those irritating guards, met that odd fellow calling himself the Fairy King, and then, upon spotting that handsome young guard, shouted to have him knocked out and taken along.
[Summer's memories end here.]
As he emerged from those painful recollections, Guinevere felt momentarily dazed. Every time he thought he'd grasped the worst of fairy cruelty, they would soon refresh his understanding. Yet at the same time, a pang of sadness struck him. He couldn't help recalling how, in the third simulation, Altria had returned to the forge on the cape and carefully placed that hair ornament back among Ekt's creations—her expression then had been so tender. He wondered if, in that simulated moment, his actions had offered her any comfort.
"Guinevere, what's wrong? You look so serious," Altria's voice came from his side. He turned and saw her worried face.
"Ah… nothing. I just—was a bit lost in thought," he said, shaking his head. "Let's keep going."
[After passing the third checkpoint, you proceed and soon arrive at the fourth checkpoint.]
"Finally, Spring's memories!" Altria exclaimed, clearly thrilled this time.
"If it's called 'Spring,' it must be full of happy memories!"
"And this time, the obstacle should be easy—please defeat it with ease!"
With that, she bounded forward into a ripple of air and vanished.
"So… have you sensed something?" Merlin asked, watching Guinevere's increasingly gloomy expression.
"Facing those Morses, you felt the hardship, of course, but your reaction seems even stronger than I expected."
Guinevere said nothing, silently awaiting the system prompt to unlock the fourth memory. He longed to know whether, in this journey not so long, anything he had done had brought Altria a moment of solace for her wounded spirit.
"No worries—those hardships only lasted until Summer. Spring's memories are purely the joys in a Paradise fairy's heart," Merlin said with a smile. "So the obstacle here… hm, I suppose it might be her dressed in finery, or perhaps some enormous feast."
"I see…" Guinevere exhaled, feeling a flicker of relief. Could it be he had given her at least a tiny fragment of happy memory? If so, his very presence had some value.
But strangely, no prompt came, nor did any foe appear. He stood puzzled, and after a few seconds Altria reappeared ahead, her face full of surprise.
"Huh? That's odd… everyone?"
Guinevere froze—there had been no Spring memories. Those precious recollections simply did not exist.
"This… is too much," he murmured, clenching his fist. Even cruelty must have limits. This fairy realm, this kingdom of Britain's fairies—how far would they go in tormenting one girl? How could there be nothing joyful to recall?
Seeing Guinevere's expression, Altria quickly understood.
"…I see," a shadow crossed her face, but she forced a bright smile. "Looks like that was easy—I barely registered it before it was over!"
She turned to walk on. "That hill up ahead must be the Chosen Site, so let's—"
"Altria!" Guinevere called out, not allowing her to slip away.
"Maybe we should go back?"
"Huh?" Altria stopped and turned. Merlin watched silently, as though expecting this.
"What's wrong, Guinevere?" she asked, trotting back.
"Because… there's no reason to go on," he said, voice trembling with repressed emotion. "Why save those fairies? They've treated you so cruelly. Neither they nor this kingdom has given you a single happy memory. Why do we keep going?"
Altria answered matter-of-factly:
"What a silly question—of course there's a reason. If we don't do this, when Britain is destroyed, you couldn't survive either. And you've helped me so much; how could I not help you in return? Besides, I carry everyone's hopes on this journey. Now that I've come so far, I can't back out."
Guinevere opened his mouth to speak, then faltered under her unwavering gaze.
"But… there really shouldn't be any more checkpoints, right? In that case, could I ask you one thing?" she added.
"What is it—?" he began, but Merlin's voice came from behind first:
"It's already prepared."
At that moment, Guinevere heard the swoosh of a blunt object slicing through the air.
Thud.
A heavy blow to the back of his head—and darkness.
…
"Well, looks like he passed out in one hit. Good thing I quietly cast Hero's Fortitude on myself when you reminded me—otherwise knocking him out cleanly would've been tough." Merlin waved his cane lightly.
"Thanks a lot. As expected of Merlin the Flower Magician—you grasped my intention instantly."
Before him, Altria bowed politely.
"Not at all—I've always been good at stealth knocks from behind," Merlin nodded. "No need to thank me. Though you commissioned this, it fits my plan perfectly. If he'd stayed conscious, he'd have blocked your forging. That would've been troublesome."
"Let's confirm once more: forging the sword—how exactly does it work? You fully understand, right?"
"Yes," Altria nodded. "You take my experiences, memories, spirit, destiny… all as materials, and forge them in equal exchange to create the Holy Sword. That's correct, isn't it?"
"Precisely. So knowing all this, you came here of your own free will?"
"Yes…"
She gripped the Prophecy Staff tightly, cast one last lingering look at Guinevere, then faced Merlin and nodded firmly:
"I'm ready."
"Cold feet? You can still change your mind," Merlin said. "I don't have the power to force you. If you regret it, you may stop anytime."
"No. If I'd doubted, I wouldn't be here," Altria replied, averting her gaze.
"I just wanted one more look at him before I left."
"Then—anything you want me to tell him?" Merlin asked.
"…Yes." Altria thought briefly, then spoke:
"Since it's the end, I have to be honest. Whether human or fairy, Britain or mission—I hate it all. Fighting is terrifying. Mutual hatred is exhausting. Being forced into this mission is absurd. But the companions who've walked with me… I love them all, especially Guinevere. It's a pity Paradise fairies have no Spring memories, but none of that matters now."
Her spirits brightened as she recalled their journey:
"Because no matter what others say, traveling with Guinevere and everyone has been the most wonderful adventure of my life. Absolutely brilliant memories—and if these become the materials, they will forge a sword worthy of him."
"I understand. I will convey your words exactly," Merlin said.
"Oh… no, wait—withdraw that." Altria shook her head.
"If he hears that after I'm gone, he'd be too sad. Let's change it."
"Understood!" She nodded vigorously.
"Tell him: I've hated that arrogant Bagster for so long, so once I have the Holy Sword, you must get Guinevere to properly teach Bagster a lesson. If he loses, I'll be furious."
She cast Guinevere one final look, then, with no further hesitation, walked toward the forge bathed in a brilliant white light.
"Oh! One more thing." Before stepping into the glow, she turned again:
"You really aren't the Merlin I know."
"Eh?" Merlin blinked—before he could ask what she meant, she strode into the light.
…
[When you wake again, you find Altria's figure gone—not just beside you, but everywhere in Paradise.]
"Altria? Altria! Where are you?!"
Guinevere bolted upright and stormed toward the Holy Sword forge—but found only an ordinary building, devoid of any magical residue or sign of her.
"Stop searching. No matter how you look, you won't find Altria. As an individual Paradise fairy, Altria no longer exists in this world."
Merlin's airy voice whispered from the side.
"…She's gone?"
Like being struck by lightning, Guinevere froze, then collapsed, drained of strength and pale as death.
"How could this be? How could this be?" he muttered, groping around, too stunned even to stand.
Seconds later, shock and confusion turned to rage.
"What's happening? Merlin? What's going on?!"
He leapt up and lunged at Merlin, trying to seize him—but grasped only air and tumbled.
"I'm sorry. Don't waste your effort—you're only striking my phantom. After all, I'm no masochist who enjoys punishment."
Merlin's face remained impassive.
"What do you mean, Merlin? What do you mean?" Guinevere rose, eyes blazing.
"You swore—swore she could leave here intact with me. She didn't have to stay forever! You promised!"
"Sigh… why did you think a nightmare's words could be trusted?" Merlin lowered his gaze.
"You—!!!" Guinevere snapped, grabbing his sword and swinging—only to slash empty air.
As he staggered back up, determined to fight to the death, Merlin spoke again:
"Besides, I did not lie. Altria truly does not need to remain here. You can take her away."
"By now, haven't you realized? Look at what you're holding in your right hand."
Merlin's words snapped Guinevere's attention to his sword. When he glanced down, he saw in his grip a blade radiant with brilliant light. He knew it at once: the most famous sword in all of the Type-Moon world—the Sword of the Oath of Victory. And now, on its blade, lingered a faint but unmistakable trace of someone's presence: the final imprint left by one girl in this world.