The sun rose gloomily on the eastern horizon, casting light on the altar still trembling from the remnants of battle magic. The Emerald Crown glowed atop Althur's head, yet it felt heavier than ever—pressing not just on her head, but on the entire history and pride it represented. In the eerie silence, her heart raced, as if trying to recall the promises once spoken in the heat of combat.

  The Knights of the Round stood in a half-circle around the altar. They were not all human—many were mere manifestations, summoned entities from the great magic of Excalibur. In the midst of that silence, Althur felt their presence, as if the souls trapped within the armor demanded vengeance. Each suit of armor reflected a deep green light, their eyes hollow, waiting only for their master's command.

  Suddenly, a crack broke the stillness. Sir Eirian, one of the young "living" Knights, drew his sword and pointed it at Althur. The anger on his face mirrored a profound dissatisfaction, as if all the pain and sacrifice he had ever endured flowed through the tip of his sword. "Enough! Our oath has long been betrayed. You and your old crown cannot redeem the past with mere words!"

  The voice of Excalibur—embedded in the altar—echoed, as if challenging anyone who dared to oppose or reject the curse. The sound struck Althur's heart like a hammer, shaking her convictions and stirring doubts she had never felt before. From its blade emerged five shadows of the remaining Knights of the Round: Gawain, Bedivere, Tristan, Mordred, and Percival—all summoned entities, their power real, yet their lives bound to the will of the crown bearer and the magic of Excalibur.

  Althur raised her hand,

  "Don't do this, Eirian. You don't yet know what will happen if we challenge the roots of the magic that shapes the world." The words came out in a worried tone, reflecting the fear creeping into Althur's soul. She longed for the days when everything felt simpler, before the unspoken burdens crushed her hopes.

  But Eirian was already provoked. He shouted,

  "I'd rather be destroyed by my own mistakes than live in the lies of the old Sovereign!" Eirian's voice flowed like a clear river, yet behind his fervor lay a wave of doubt and regret. He understood the risks this fight entailed, but freedom was more important than submission.

  The five Knights of the Round drew their weapons. A magical aura surrounded them, radiating energy that clashed with the fear gripping Althur, ready to strike anyone who violated their oath. As their eyes crossed, Althur felt trapped in a labyrinth of uncertainty, where one wrong step could change everything.

  Magic: “Solar Rend – Gawain’s Dawnblade”

  Sir Gawain leaped forward, his Solar Blade slicing through the air. Each swing left burning wounds on the ground, evaporating water and shattering stone. Golden light struck Eirian, scorching the young man's shoulder until his skin blackened. In an instant, Eirian felt a searing heat penetrating his flesh, triggering a panic he had never experienced before. "I can't fall now," he thought, his spirit fighting hard even as the pain gnawed at him.

  Magic: “Mirror Breaker – Bedivere’s Retort”

  Sir Bedivere swung his magical shield, creating a shockwave that struck Althur's chest and two other Knights defending her. Their armor cracked, breaths came in gasps, blood dripped from their mouths. Althur felt as if her entire world collapsed in an instant; every painful throb in her chest signaled that she could barely move. "Am I strong enough to keep going?" she murmured, hope fading along with the blood flowing from her.

  Magic: “Lamenting Veil – Tristan’s Dirge”

  Sir Tristan spread a blue cloak that released acidic mist. The mist crept around the living Knights' feet, burning skin, weakening muscles, and temporarily blinding them. Eirian shouted, "Don't let the mist touch you!" Terror gripped each Knight as they felt themselves weakening, as if the world spun around them. Eirian felt a deep helplessness, his inner voice screaming to act, but he was trapped in panic and darkness threatening to swallow him.

  Magic: “Abyssal Grudge – Mordred’s Curse”

  Mordred summoned black chains that shot from the shadow of Excalibur, binding Althur's ankles. Each chain dug into the ground and her body, creating a pain that pierced to the bone and restrained her movements. Althur felt an uncontrollable panic, trapped in the shadows of pain that continued to deceive her. "I should be the one protecting everyone, not the other way around," she thought sadly, realizing that perhaps this was the end of her journey.

  Magic: “Sanctuary Break – Percival’s Oath”

  Percival thrust his spear into the altar, creating a shockwave that shattered the protective circle around the altar and nullified all existing healing spells. Panic began to creep into the Knights as they realized the consequences of Percival's actions. In an instant, their hope felt like it was slowly fading, with helplessness gnawing at their hearts. All the wounded Knights suddenly lost the healing effects, blood flowing more freely from their legs and chests.

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  Every drop of blood spilled seemed to remind them of the pain and sacrifice they had endured. Althur bit her lip, feeling the pressure in her chest, as if the world was trying to take all her strength from her body, and she found herself fighting not just to survive, but to hold onto hope.

  Althur stifled a scream, her body barely able to stand, yet the aura of the Emerald Crown still radiated the remnants of the Sovereign's power, as if giving her the spirit to keep fighting despite the pain haunting every movement. In her heart, a doubt flickered: was all this worth the sacrifices made? Was there a way back?

  Eirian, despite the burn on his shoulder, leaped to slash at Gawain with his blue flaming sword—his strike hit the armor of the summoned Knight, creating magical sparks, yet Gawain's body seemed to feel no human pain. In that moment, Eirian felt a profound emptiness as he saw how Gawain, his friend, was trapped in a bond of loyalty that may have sacrificed his soul.

  "Only the master can call us back," Gawain murmured in a hollow voice, as if the words conveyed a sadness deeper than his physical wounds.

  The living Knights realized:

  The Knights of the Round could only vanish if Excalibur lost its master, or if their master was gravely injured or killed. As they pondered those words, a sense of injustice and fear began to seep into their souls, like a dark fog that refused to leave. The material of their struggle turned out to be nothing more than dust swept away by the wind, and those tense moments tested not only their strength but also their resolve to stand firm in the darkness.

  The duel continued brutally.

  Sir Galahad, the last of the living Knights, tried to summon a protective spell, but it had already been shattered by the Sanctuary Break magic. Within his soul, he struggled with feelings of loss and helplessness; the hope that once burned brightly now dimmed into shadows.

  Althur gathered the last strength of the Emerald Crown,

  "If the world only wants to see destruction, let me be the one to break the chains—not to hold them." In her heart, a burning question arose: Was she truly capable of changing this fate, or was she merely running toward a deeper darkness?

  With the last of her energy, she uttered the Sovereign magic:

  Magic: “Crown Severance – Sovereign’s Last Light”

  A burst of emerald light exploded from the crown, temporarily severing Mordred's chains and knocking Percival back. This wave also caused the bodies of the Knights of the Round to begin to crack; the call of Excalibur started to weaken. In that moment, Althur felt the weight of responsibility binding her. Every Knight fighting alongside her was a reminder of the sacrifices she had to face.

  Tristan's mist slowly dissipated.

  Bedivere, now with a nearly shattered shield, stepped back, waiting for new orders from Excalibur. He felt it—the tension in his chest, as if every heartbeat marked the remaining time that would never return.

  Eirian challenged Althur again,

  "You can end them all, or you can let the world go on without a Sovereign!" His words echoed in Althur's mind, presenting a vision of a directionless world, while she longed for the lost camaraderie with the other Knights.

  Althur, panting, gazed at the altar, watching Excalibur tremble.

  If she destroyed the sword, all summoned Knights would vanish—but perhaps, the world would also lose its greatest guardians. In her heart, she felt the tug-of-war between responsibility and longing; was she ready to be the violator of a fate written by legends?

  In the next moment, the altar cracked from the vibrations of the crown's magic and Excalibur's opposing forces.

  Sir Gawain knelt, his body beginning to fade, armor darkening like a shadow. Within his soul, a greater battle raged—between loyalty and betrayal, between sacrifice and painful delicacy. Voices from the past whispered in his ears, reminding him of all that had been lost.

  Sir Tristan and Mordred trembled, the magical chains breaking one by one. In that moment, they became embodiments of difficult choices, feeling the weight of every decision made. Gawain looked at Althur one last time,

  "History alternates between choosing heroes and traitors. Ask the world, who deserves to be remembered after all these wounds?"

  Althur stood trembling, raising the Emerald Crown high, then plunging it into the altar, right beside Excalibur.

  The Sovereign magic and Excalibur clashed, breaking the boundaries of summoning—all the summoned Knights of the Round slowly erased, returning to old names within the stone magic. In Althur's mind, faces flashed that would never be forgotten—friends, foes, and the fate that bound them all.

  The living Knights—Eirian, Galahad, and a few others—knelt at the altar, waiting for the world to choose its new leader. With every heartbeat, hope and fear rolled within them, as if the fate of the world depended on their now dimming presence.

  Althur collapsed, blood flowing from her temple, the Emerald Crown cracked on the altar. In the darkness enveloping her, she felt a profound loneliness—as if the universe rejected her, leaving her in her final moments. It felt as if all the hopes she had ever held began to slip away, one by one.

  Excalibur faded, its magical aura vanished, and all that remained was the sound of regret, unhealed physical wounds, and a history that now truly began from nothing. Reason and longing intertwined in her mind, making her realize that although everything could end, their story still had breath to fight for—though now, everything seemed hopeless.