The Holy City.
To the refugees gathered here, this place represents their hope, their long-desired sanctuary, and the foundation of their faith.
In order to be selected into the Holy City during the once-a-month Holy Selection, they endured their harsh lives in simple tents, surviving on the limited food and water provided by the Knights of the Holy City.
Thus, the Holy City is the ideal haven for the refugees, and the Lion King and the Knights of the Round Table are revered as symbols of faith, praised day and night by the refugees.
But, who could have imagined?
Right at the gates of this symbol of hope, faith, and ideals, hell descended.
Amidst endless cries of anguish, the refugees faced slaughter by the Knights of the Holy City.
Slaughter.
No other word could describe the current situation.
The Knights of the Holy Order swung their swords mercilessly, cutting down the terrified refugees scattering in all directions.
"Slash!" "Slash!" "Slash!"
In the blink of an eye, several people were brutally struck down, blood spilling beneath them, staining the soil red in patches.
And it all happened in that brief blink.
The knights had surrounded the refugees and, in the instant the Holy Sanction began, drew their swords and struck. The entire process lasted less than a second.
Though the massacre had not fully unfolded, many were already lying on the ground, gravely injured and on the brink of death.
For those struck down, it was a small mercy that they had not perished immediately.
Faced with this situation, the Knights of the Holy City raised their swords mechanically, ready to deliver the final blow.
At that moment, amidst the cacophony of screams and cries, a surge of magic rippled through the air.
"Clang!" "Clang!" "Clang!"
The swords of the Knights of the Holy Order, poised to strike, were deflected by invisible shields of psychic force that appeared out of nowhere.
In the next instant, the invisible shields twisted violently.
"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"
With a series of dull impacts, the Knights of the Holy Order were sent flying by the spinning psychic shields.
Immediately, the refugees scattered in panic amidst the chaos.
The battlefield descended into utter disarray.
In contrast, the city walls above were shrouded in an oppressive silence.
Yet within this silence, a tempestuous aura roiled.
Rozen had, at some point, raised a hand toward the battlefield below. His gaze, cold and piercing, shifted toward Artoria.
His eyes were filled with icy malice.
"What are you doing...!?"
Mash, equally in disbelief, questioned the knights of the Round Table.
However, neither Tristan, Mordred, nor Agravain responded with anything but cold indifference.
Artoria, too, turned her gaze toward Rozen, her demeanor unwavering.
Clearly, the carnage unfolding below meant nothing to them.
This made Rozen laugh—a cold, emotionless laugh.
"So this is the Holy Selection, huh?"
As these words left his lips, a chill swept through the air.
"Accepting those you deem qualified into the Holy City and executing the rest on the spot—this is what you call working for humanity, for hope, and for the future, isn't it, Lion King?"
Each of Rozen's words carried a storm-like weight, full of suffocating intensity.
Yet Artoria remained unmoved.
"Humanity has no future. The ambitions of the Mage King will undoubtedly reduce human history to ashes. This singularity will collapse, and proper human history will burn away. This is an unalterable conclusion."
Artoria's voice was devoid of emotion, recounting her judgment with chilling detachment.
"In that case, before the destined end arrives, gathering pure and untainted humans within my Holy City to preserve the flame of humanity—is this not for humanity, for hope, for the future?"
Indeed.
This is the Holy Selection.
The so-called Holy Selection is the process of choosing those whom Artoria deems qualified, allowing them to serve as the seeds of humanity within the Holy City.
Artoria believed that humanity was beyond salvation, that human history was doomed to destruction. Thus, before the inevitable end, she sought to preserve as much of humanity as possible.
This was why Artoria established the Holy City and lingered in this singularity.
Simply put, the Lion King had lost faith in humanity and in Chaldea, opting instead to prepare for the worst.
Was this wrong?
It's hard to say.
The real issue lies in...
"Then why kill the remaining refugees? Is that what noble and virtuous Knights of the Round Table should do?"
Mash's voice trembled with anger.
Mash was furious—both herself and the existence within her resonated with rage. This dual fury burned intensely within her.
But Artoria remained indifferent.
"They are worthless. Rather than letting them fall into depravity, it's better to grant them mercy."
Artoria's tone, as if addressing mere objects, was cold and unchanging.
At that moment, everyone understood.
"You... you're not King Arthur...!"
Mash's body trembled.
Previously, Rozen had made this claim.
But the meaning then and now was entirely different.
Back then, Rozen was merely pointing out that Artoria had become a goddess, no longer the legendary king of Britain.
Now, Mash was stating that Artoria had abandoned her past completely.
The true King Arthur would never be so cruel.
As a noble King of Knights, the real King Arthur would never treat humanity as mere objects.
No—any human would hesitate to treat their own kind in such a manner.
But Artoria was no longer human. She was now a high and mighty deity whose values had shifted. Just as humans view animals as inferior, Artoria now regarded humans in the same way.
Thus, the one before them was not King Arthur or the Knight King, but...
"Lion King...!"
Overcome by rage, Mash began to radiate light.
Knightly armor and weaponry materialized around Mash as she gripped her shield tightly, charging at Artoria.
In the past, Mash would never have acted so recklessly.
But in this moment, overwhelmed by the intense emotions surging within her, Mash couldn't restrain herself from attacking Artoria.
However...
"Clang, clang, clang...!"
A series of melodic harp notes resounded, and countless invisible blades, like arrows in a storm, hurtled toward Mash.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Sparks flew as Mash raised her shield, blocking the onslaught of unseen arrows.
This was Tristan's attack.
"How sorrowful," Tristan sighed melancholically. "To show hostility toward the King despite being invited into her presence... For such a person, we Knights of the Round Table have no choice but to cut them down upon the city walls. Ah, such sorrow, such tragedy."
Despite his lament, Tristan plucked his harp without hesitation. Invisible arrows poured down like rain, bombarding Mash.
Mash could only grit her teeth, raising her shield in desperation to block the relentless invisible barrage, her shield ringing with the clamor of impact.
At that moment...
"So it was you, huh...!?"
With a furious shout, a figure suddenly appeared before Mash.