After Artoria deflected his strike, the Last King offered her genuine praise.
This was not arrogance. The blade he wielded was forged by the gods themselves to ensure his success in vanquishing the Campiones of the earth—a divine weapon unparalleled in its ability to sever all existence, known as the [End-of-Days Blade]. A sword capable of cleaving heavens, earth, and planets alike, there was no weapon on this world that could rival it in performance.
"O divine blade, bearer of salvation, reveal your radiance!"
As if his battle spirit had been ignited by Artoria, the Last King was enveloped in an intangible flame, and his already immense magical energy surged even further beyond comprehension.
Platinum light condensed at the tip of his sword, shining like a miniature star, its brilliance illuminating the void of space.
"Now, try to withstand this strike! Behold the radiance that can cleave through stars!"
Raising the divine blade of salvation high above his head, the Last King appeared as though he were holding aloft a colossal sun. His resonant voice rang clearly in Artoria's ears, unhindered by the vast expanse of space.
Even from a distance, the platinum star's searing heat tormented Artoria's body, making her acutely aware of its terrifying power.
"How terrifying…" she muttered, shielding her head with one hand. Despite the oppressive heat, her golden slit-pupils betrayed no fear.
If that blazing platinum sun were to fall to Earth, surely everything—mountains, cities, civilizations—would crumble like a fragile sandcastle swept away by the tide.
"A sword bearing the name of salvation, is it? How coincidental… mine bears the same name."
Her voice was quiet, but resolute. Gripping her sword with both hands, Artoria drew in a deep, steady breath. Magical energy surged through her body like a raging torrent, channeling into her weapon. Black light, a harbinger of despair and finality, engulfed the blade of [Excalibur Morgan].
Then, she swung her massive blade of darkness to meet the descending sun head-on.
In the infinite void of space, the colossal torrent of black light surged forth like a flood, exuding unbearable heat as it collided with the radiant platinum star.
The moment they clashed, the resulting shockwave rippled outward like a tempest, obliterating everything in its path. The floating island, caught in the blast, was reduced to rubble in an instant. The fragments that plummeted toward Earth were pulverized into particles by the sheer force of the collision.
Blinding light engulfed the battlefield, swallowing all.
Amid the chaotic sea of magical energy, both Artoria and the Last King were sent hurtling away, fiery sparks trailing in their wake.
Mordred was still on Earth and had avoided the chaos, while Lancelot, ever the pragmatist, had escaped with Guinevere before the shockwave could annihilate them. Had they stayed, they would have been reduced to nothing.
"Hmm?"
At that moment, the Last King's instincts screamed danger. It felt as though a razor-sharp blade hovered at his throat, compelling him to react immediately.
In an instant, Artoria closed the distance between them, appearing before the Last King as though she had transcended space itself. Her dark sword, wreathed in black flames, descended like lightning toward his neck.
But just as the blade was about to sever his head, the Last King raised his divine sword to block it.
Though her initial strike failed, Artoria pressed on relentlessly. Her knightly blade, massive and seemingly unwieldy, moved with the grace and precision of a butterfly's wings, each strike tracing an elegant, deadly arc. Every blow aimed for the Last King's most vital points.
The Last King's eyes gleamed with admiration as he parried her furious onslaught. The more they fought, the more satisfied he became with his opponent.
Perhaps… she truly is capable of freeing me from this endless cycle of fate, he thought, a flicker of hope sparking within him.
Despite his growing respect for her, his movements didn't falter.
He countered her flurry with unparalleled precision—uppercuts, downward slashes, sweeping arcs, and sudden thrusts.
As a [Steel] God, the Last King was a master of swordsmanship, embodying the essence of war, battle, and the blade itself.
And as the strongest [Steel], his skill with the sword was unmatched.
Even their simplest exchanges were devastating. The mere shockwaves from their clashes were enough to obliterate lesser heretic gods or Campiones.
Indeed, the battlefield they had created was one no ordinary god or Campione could survive, let alone enter.
As their dark and silver blades collided once more, the release of divine power illuminated the void like a second sun. The destructive energy spread out, turning the empty space into a chaotic storm of destruction.
The two separated, retreating several hundred meters apart, their eyes locking from the distance.
"It seems we can't determine a victor through swordsmanship alone," the Last King remarked.
Artoria did not refute him. Her silence was acknowledgment enough.
Though their swordsmanship differed, the gap between their skill levels was negligible. If they continued fighting like this, it was impossible to tell how long it would take to reach a conclusion.
Such a prolonged battle would be a waste of time.
"Fighting you has been exhilarating," the Last King admitted, his tone tinged with rare satisfaction. "I haven't felt this alive in a long time—not even against my fated enemy did I feel such joy.
"But... you and I don't have the luxury of time to waste."
Regret colored his voice, though it carried the weight of acceptance. The Last King, despite his overwhelming power, had always been a prisoner of his fate, unable to pursue his own desires.
Whenever heretic gods descended, they brought catastrophe tied to their divine nature.
When a sun god descended, their radiance turned the earth into a burning hellscape.
When a sea god descended, their fury summoned tsunamis to drown entire continents.
When a god of death descended, the gates of the underworld opened, blurring the boundary between life and death and turning the world into a kingdom of the dead.
As the strongest hero destined to slay the Demon Kings, the Last King's descent heralded the apocalypse. The world's countdown to destruction began the moment he awoke.
The earth fractured, life withered, volcanoes erupted, and oceans raged.
Even now, despite being in orbit rather than on Earth's surface, his presence was already causing irreparable damage.
This was why he would always destroy the Campiones as quickly as possible, before returning to his slumber.
Closing his eyes, the Last King exhaled deeply. When he opened them again, they glimmered with divine lightning.
"O sacred sword of demon-slaying, I raise the banner of salvation! Summon forth the godly thunder at the edge of the world! Grant me the power to annihilate all enemies!"
Though they were far from Earth's surface, high in the void of space, the Last King's words manifested a divine storm.
Platinum lightning roared into existence, crackling with celestial authority as it illuminated the darkness and rained down destruction.