The Noble Phantasms unleashed by all three sides reached the level of A+-rank Anti-Army, colliding and detonating amidst the mountain valley.
The sheer power was so immense it seemed to pierce the heavens. This explosion was far grander than the clash between Alaric and Gawain, with its destructive radius extending for kilometers. Terrifying light and heat spread instantly.
The ancient mountains, unchanging for millennia, along with the atmosphere itself, vaporized in an instant—wiped entirely from existence.
'!'
Almost the moment the Noble Phantasms were unleashed, the Lionheart King, who had intended to rely on an immense flow of mana to endure Mordred and Gawain's dual assault, felt an abrupt void of strength.
The mana that should have been surging into his body dissipated completely as if it had never existed!
His mind raced, and an image of Alaric diving fiercely below flashed before him. There was no time to dwell on it, however. The instant the mana supply was severed, the scales of victory tipped entirely.
Faced with the combined might of Mordred and Gawain's Noble Phantasms, the Lionheart King's firepower alone could no longer resist. Even though he swiftly drew upon his internal mana reserves to maintain his Noble Phantasm, it was futile. One man's strength was no match for two Knights of the Round Table.
Crack!
A sharp breaking sound was drowned out by the overwhelming explosion of light. In less than a second, the grand explosion expanded, engulfing Gawain, Mordred, the Lionheart King, and everyone else indiscriminately—annihilating everything.
In a hidden corner, far from anyone's notice—
Alaric, the key figure who severed the Lionheart King's mana supply and destroyed the Flesh Hell, lay spread-eagle on the ground. Amidst the endless light and heat, his body was drenched in blood. It felt as though his skin had been ripped off entirely, while large parts of his body continuously evaporated and regenerated.
Guh!
Crushed beneath the overwhelming explosion, Alaric couldn't even activate his Mystic Eyes to counter the searing heat. He could only desperately draw mana from the Holy Grail to construct defensive barriers within and around his body. His enhanced dragon blood barely sustained his vitals.
Each passing second stretched into an eternity in his perception. It felt like an endless torment—as though he were eternally cast into purgatory.
Familiar information surged through his mind. Alaric recognized it as the Death of All Things he had witnessed countless times before. But this time, it wasn't just the death of the world around him. The influx of deathly energy seemed to encompass himself as well.
As the deathly information poured into him, the dragon blood within Alaric surged wildly. No longer merely assimilating mana, his blood began to transform. Under the combined influence of death and the infinite mana supplied by the Holy Grail, it grew anew.
Stronger vitality filled him, accompanied by a dramatic increase in inhuman elements. Yet Alaric remained oblivious to these changes, his extraction of the Holy Grail's mana an instinctive, mechanical operation.
Meanwhile, his consciousness sank entirely into an abyss, reaching the domain of death itself.
In that liminal space between existence and nothingness, strands of gray-white mist began to spread through his vision.
As the first second of death passed, the dazzling light that filled the heavens and earth began to fade. The oppressive heat slowly dissipated. The atmosphere flowed back, and rolling white vapor engulfed the molten depths of the valley.
The crushing light and heat finally lifted. Alaric struggled to his feet. A strand of hair brushed past his face, and with dull, lifeless eyes, he instinctively reached out to touch it. The once pale-white strand had turned stark white.
Startled, he reached to the back of his head and realized his hair had grown to shoulder length. Not only had its color changed, but Alaric could feel an unprecedented vitality coursing through him, emanating from his dragon heart. Even without mana reinforcement, his sheer physical strength now rivaled—or perhaps even exceeded—his previous mana-driven state.
'?'
Still disoriented, Alaric swayed as he stood. Glancing upward, he searched for familiar figures. His attention was drawn to several falling silhouettes.
The colossal platform had been entirely vaporized, and the states of Gawain, Mordred, and the Lionheart King were far from ideal.
Under the massive explosion caused by the clash of the three Noble Phantasms, all their armors had shattered, leaving them with varying degrees of injury. Among them, Gawain was in the best condition, seemingly unscathed except for minor cracks in his armor—similar to his state after battling Alaric. In contrast, Mordred and the Lionheart King were drenched in blood. Their protective armors had been destroyed, unable to withstand the catastrophic clash of Noble Phantasms.
As Alaric's hazy vision refocused, he realized he was the most gravely injured of all. The immense light and heat from the three Noble Phantasms had either ascended to the heavens or penetrated the valley depths.
To eliminate the Flesh Hell, Alaric had been left alone in the molten valley depths—accompanied only by the long-dead Flesh Hell itself.
Thinking of the Flesh Hell, Alaric instinctively glanced around. In the scorched, molten landscape, apart from a few figures, there was only dead earth. The Flesh Hell, once composed of countless lives, had been entirely vaporized, leaving no trace.
"Killed, huh—"
Even riddled with wounds, the Lionheart King showed no signs of despair. He glanced at the drastically transformed Alaric with a faint expression. Although he couldn't comprehend what Alaric had done, he understood that in that critical moment, Alaric had severed his connection to the mana source.
Before the Lionheart King could investigate further, Gawain stepped forward once again. The battle was far from over.
Mordred, drenched in blood, gripped her sword tightly and charged forward with explosive speed. She bypassed Gawain and struck at the Lionheart King, aiming directly for his head.
Buzz!
Tristan, mostly unscathed thanks to Lancelot's earlier interception of the assault, plucked his bowstring. Invisible slashes followed Mordred's charge, all targeting the Lionheart King.
"You still holding up!?"
Mordred roared, her emerald pupils locked on the Lionheart King's every move as red lightning danced along her blade. She seemed poised to release another Noble Phantasm!
The Lionheart King raised his sword to counter—but froze when he noticed something unusual.
His weapon had been severed in two!
Faced with Mordred's ferocious blade and Tristan's mountain-cleaving invisible strikes, the Lionheart King dared not meet them head-on. Yet retreat was impossible, as Gawain's blazing solar flames surged toward him, leaving no room to escape.
Though Gawain had already unleashed his Noble Phantasm once, he appeared unaffected, recklessly wielding his mana to engulf the valley depths in fiery slashes.