Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

The battle entered a fever pitch the very moment it began.

Without holding anything back, Marjery—or perhaps it was better to call him Demon Pillar Barbatos now—unleashed his full power from the outset.

Enormous tentacles sprouted around him like roots from a cursed tree, boring into the ground only to emerge again some distance away, tearing up the once-flat battlefield into a cratered wasteland.

Barbatos's tentacles grew without restraint, like grotesque trees forming a forest of madness, their shape and motion evoking kelp fields magnified a thousandfold.

Once their numbers had multiplied enough, those monstrous appendages lunged toward Gawain in a simultaneous assault.

The nearby tentacles crashed down like collapsing mountains, while those farther away began to concentrate beams of red-hot light through the countless crimson eyes embedded across Barbatos's massive form. These beams fired together in a blinding net of energy, forming a scorching web of death aimed straight at Gawain.

But even with all that effort, Barbatos still couldn't lay a finger on him.

In theory, a single Demon Pillar should've been enough to overwhelm several Servants at once. But against a top-tier Servant? That was a different story entirely.

Output, precision, agility, combat experience—Barbatos was utterly outclassed in every respect.

The mountainous tentacles were cleanly severed by a single swing of the blazing holy sword. The web of searing beams didn't even graze Gawain's robes—he evaded them effortlessly, sometimes even reflecting them back with the sword's flat edge, piercing the very limbs that had fired at him.

This battlefield had become Gawain's stage and his alone.

With movements too fast for the eye to track, he danced across the chaos, slicing through swarms of tentacles and vaporizing thick clouds of miasma with searing bursts from the sacred blade. He moved like a storm around Barbatos's core, severing huge chunks of flesh with each strike, driving the demon pillar steadily toward its doom.

—A complete and utter one-sided slaughter.

"...So dazzling."

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Mordred found herself momentarily entranced by Gawain's brilliance.

Never had she imagined that the companion who'd stood by her side all this time would one day shine like that.

As dazzling as her Father. As dazzling as the ideal knight she once idolized in those old tales.

Radiant and glorious.

But that brief distraction cost her dearly.

Black Lancer roared forth astride her obsidian steed, storm winds churning beneath its hooves. A deadly thrust shot toward Mordred—too fast, too close. She couldn't dodge in time, nor ready her sword.

She gritted her teeth, bracing for impact—

A streak of light suddenly flashed from above, colliding with the black lance mid-thrust and knocking Black Lancer and her horse backwards. The reflected weapon spun through the air—Mordred blinked in surprise.

It was... a familiar sword-lance hybrid?

Then, a voice she knew all too well echoed from behind her.

"Apologies for the delay. I believe I was under enemy control for a while there? Looks like I've caused some trouble again."

Mordred turned quickly—astonished.

The Father who'd been chasing Bavanzi earlier now stood beside her, eyes once again clear, with an annoyed-looking Bavanzi behind her. It was she who had blocked Black Lancer's attack.

"Huh? Wait—uh—Father? You're... uh..."

Mordred fumbled over what to call her. But Caster Artoria immediately caught her meaning.

"Oh, you're wondering when I regained my senses?"

Mordred nodded furiously.

"That happened the moment Gawain summoned himself from the Throne. Since the summoned version of him wields the holy sword, and I'm its administrator, I regained consciousness the moment I sensed it."

She glanced aside, rubbing her cheek a bit sheepishly.

"I was under Nightmare possession for a while, and I did end up fighting you... There's probably still a few bruises, huh?"

"Huh? Oh! That?" Mordred stammered, suddenly flustered by her Father's concern. "No! No big deal! Not hurt at all!"

"Oh come on, not hurt? Look at her breastplate—it's dented!" Bavanzi butted in, clearly fed up, pointing accusingly at Artoria. "You really think you didn't hit her hard? Have a little self-awareness!"

"Well..."

Artoria followed her gaze, and sure enough, the dent was there. She did feel a twinge of guilt—but because it was Bavanzi doing the scolding, her pride flared right back up.

"That's between me and my daughter. Family business. What's an outsider like you sticking your nose in for?"

"Who're you calling an outsider?!" Bavanzi shouted indignantly. "She's my little sister!"

"Sister?" Artoria blinked. Then realization struck her. "Oh right, you're both Morgan's daughters... Wait."

She suddenly smiled.

"Doesn't that make you my niece, Bavanzi?"

"Huh?" Bavanzi froze.

Artoria didn't miss a beat.

"Yes, yes. My dear little niece. So I'll forgive your earlier rudeness—just this once."

"You wanna die?!" Bavanzi exploded.

They were just about to trade more barbs when a storm surged toward them again. Thankfully, Mordred spun around in time and unleashed a burst of mana, deflecting the charging lance.

"Father! Sis! That other Father still isn't back to normal!"

"Oh, right," Artoria sighed. "There's still one tricky one left."

She eyed the oncoming Black Lancer—the original Artoria from Proper Human History, still under Nightmare control—and sighed again.

"She probably can't be saved... For some reason, my compatibility with this version of her is abnormally high, so it's unlikely we'll be able to break the link peacefully. Best to return her to the Throne."

"Is that... really okay?" Mordred hesitated.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Bavanzi scoffed. "You didn't hesitate to beat up your Fairyland Father, did you? And that lance she's holding—wasn't that the same one that killed you in real history?"

"...Eh?" Mordred blinked.

"Father... killed me?"

She murmured to herself, stunned.

But neither Bavanzi nor Caster Artoria noticed. By then, they were already charging at Black Lancer again, unleashing a barrage of blood-red arrows and crystal javelins. The battle resumed in earnest.

"Looks like that side's under control too."

Across the battlefield, Gawain glanced sideways, noting that Caster had completely overwhelmed Black Lancer. He gave a small nod.

Truly, the dream-limited version of a fully-upgraded Caster—Candidate for the Grand Saber Class—was something else. Even setting aside her support capabilities, her mobility and offense alone were enough to suppress Black Lancer.

Now that she had Bavanzi and Mordred backing her up, it was overkill.

Within mere minutes, Black Lancer had been pushed to the brink of defeat.

So this was the weight behind the title of Grand Candidate.

Another casual slash from Gawain tore a massive hunk of flesh from Barbatos's body. And then he suddenly muttered:

"Tell your so-called Demon King boss something for me—"

"You're just a clown who stole the Grand title. Don't act so high and mighty."

"Because guess what?"

He raised his sword slightly, his tone casual.

"You're not the only one with a Grand Candidate."

"What...?" Barbatos's attacks faltered slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Gawain gestured toward Caster, "why do you think my Artoria's stronger than yours?"

"Why?" Barbatos blinked—then gasped. "Wait—you mean she's a Grand candidate?! There's a Grand candidate here?!"

"Oh, so you can put two and two together."

Gawain smiled faintly.

"But you're still missing something... She's not the only one."

"There's another?!"

"Yep," Gawain replied. "Another candidate for Grand Saber."

"And who might that be?"

Light flared along the blade, illuminating Gawain's face.

"Humble though I am, that candidate would be—yours truly."

He raised his shining sword high.

"And with that... playtime's over. I'm getting bored."

"Barbatos. Hand over your heart."

"Treasure Tool—Unleashed. Power at 30%."

"This is a battle for the salvation of the world."

With his final declaration, a storm of mana erupted from his sword. Even before the blade moved, its power was enough to strike terror into Barbatos's monstrous heart.

"Don't get cocky!!"

Barbatos bellowed, suddenly absorbing all the mana from his decaying tendrils. It all flowed into his main body, charging the massive central eye with violent red energy.

This was it. The final blow.

"—The crossroads are upon us!"

"Incineration Mode—Barbatoss!"

A beam of pure destruction surged forth, seeking to erase Gawain entirely.

At the same time, Gawain finished his charge and slashed downward.

"—Sword of Promised Victory, Excalibur!"

The two overwhelming forces collided mid-air in the vast hollow, crashing together in a cataclysmic explosion of power.