[After Artoria returns from Faery Knight Gawain's manor, you discuss with her the prospect of settling in Manchester permanently.]
[Artoria agrees to your proposal.]
[Upon learning you wish to settle in Manchester, Faery Knight Gawain grants you an unclaimed house on the city's outskirts.]
Gawain places the house deed into Gawain's hand and says, "Consider this repaying a debt I owe you. Live here in peace—I will protect you."
"A debt?" Gawain blinks in confusion; he doesn't recall ever doing Gawain a favor.
"Ah…" Gawain hesitates, then explains, "Your single-handed assault on Tristan's camp dealt a heavy blow to her pride. Because of that, she delayed her attack on Manchester. In that sense, I truly owe you my gratitude."
"…I'm truly humbled, but I only fought for myself." Gawain says quietly. Though something still feels off, Gawain accepts the explanation.
[After accepting Gawain's gift, you and Artoria firmly establish yourselves in Manchester.]
[You rebuild your workshop in Manchester.]
[Queen's Calendar 2018, November: Having conquered New Darlington, Norwich, Oxford, and Salisbury, Faery Knight Tristan crowns herself Queen of Faery Britain in Salisbury—adopting the title "Blood Queen."]
[That same month, Blood Queen Tristan leads her army south to besiege Lentinum.]
[After days of brutal combat, the Round Table Army suffers devastating losses. Its leader, Percival, makes a desperate charge to strike Tristan but is ambushed by the new Lord of Norwich, Beliar, and dies on the spot.]
[Blood Queen Tristan unites eastern and southern Britain under her rule, earning an unrivaled reputation.]
"Is that so… Percival's dead." Artoria falls silent for a moment after reading the words on the screen. Although she had only heard tales of his valor—and had never met the man dubbed "Britain's greatest mortal," who had formed the Round Table Army to aid the Child of Prophecy—her recovered memories from the previous simulation grant her keen insight into Percival's life.
Truly, Percival was a good man. He embodied every virtue a knight should possess, and in contrast to Gawain's arrogance, Percival's words and deeds contained no flaw. Brave, humble, kind, and honest—he was hailed by his comrades as purity itself. In the last simulation, he had helped Artoria in countless ways; she considered him a true friend.
Now that he has fallen in this simulation, a wave of guilt and sorrow washes over Artoria's heart. She cannot help but feel the sting of responsibility—yet she whispers in her mind, Forgive me, Percival. To keep Gawain alive, I had no other choice. Please understand.
Her gaze drifts back to the screen.
[With constant warfare and Manchester lacking a blacksmith's forge, Gawain suggests converting your workshop into a smithy.]
[Because your knowledge of smithing is far inferior to Gawain's, you are convinced at once and have no alternative.]
"…I never meant to refuse," Artoria murmurs, feeling slightly wounded by how casually Gawain dismissed her.
[Your smithy lacks essential tools. Yet because of lingering enmity with Faery Knight Tristan, Gawain declines to travel to Norwich to procure the equipment.]
"Smithing tools… of course!" Artoria's eyes brighten as she recalls something.
[You tell Gawain you know where to find those smithing tools.]
Moments later, Gawain pushes open a creaking door. A cloud of dust bursts into the air, choking them both and sending Gawain into a fit of coughing.
"It's been over a year since anyone came here," Gawain rasps, brushing ash from his cloak.
Behind him, Artoria smiles softly—though Gawain notices a flicker of sorrow hidden within her expression. He says nothing, knowing better than to ask.
They stand at the edge of Tintagel, now a ruin of blackened stone and splintered beams. Before Artoria's eighteenth year, she grew up in this village. According to Gawain, when she turned eighteen, Woodworth's forces had arrived, slaughtered every fairy here, and set the entire village ablaze.
Yet, Artoria does not speak of returning to the charred remains. Instead, she leads Gawain to the very tip of a tall sea cliff overlooking the rolling waves. At the cliff's edge sits a lonely, weather-worn cottage—its door ajar, as though awaiting them.
"I never imagined I would return here," Artoria whispers.
Inside the narrow, dust-choked workshop, she sweeps her hand across a table coated in thick ash. Her emerald eyes glisten with bittersweet nostalgia.
Once, an eccentric old smith named Ector lived here—an Earth Clan artisan who had dwelled on this cliff for centuries. The villagers feared his gruff temper, but beneath his grim exterior, he was a man of truth and steadfast friendship. Artoria remembers that he was the only one in her childhood who had ever smiled at her.
She wanders through the cluttered space, tracing her finger along dusty footprints on the floor. At last, she stops before a simple table. Here, rows of glittering jewelry lie half-buried under ashes—cheap trinkets Ector had made to deceive naive travelers. He had once told Artoria that, if she ever desired one, he would gladly give it to her. But she had refused—feeling unworthy of such a gift.
Now, Artoria's gaze falls on an empty space among those dusty baubles. Her hand trembles as she lifts the jeweled hairpin from her head—the very pin Gawain gave her on the night he confessed his love, still tarnished from her journeys.
She places it gently into the empty slot. The hairpin fits seamlessly among Ector's crafts—its style matching so perfectly that it could have been forged by the same hand.
Artoria draws a shuddering breath, fighting back tears. "So… this is where it came from." She whispers, voice cracking. Memories flood her mind: the laughter of the old smith, the village before the flames, the faces of those lost all surge in a tidal wave that threatens to drown her.
But in that moment, a gentle hand clasps hers, pulling her back from the abyss. Gawain's soft voice speaks at her side:
"Artoria,"
She trembles, meeting Gawain's loving gaze. He stands there, eyes overflowing with tenderness and devotion:
"I am here."
"No matter what happens, I will always stand by your side."
At the warmth in his eyes, the sorrow that weighed on her heart lightens. A fragile hope blossoms as she answers, "…Yes." She nods, then casts her eyes once more upon the table of jewelry—but now, her emerald gaze glows with anticipation for the future instead of grief.
Silently, she picks up the hairpin Gawain had given her and places it back into his outstretched palm.
Then, she slips her hands behind her back, lifts her chin, and looks up at him, hair swaying gently as she asks, "Could you… help me wear this one more time?"
Her emerald eyes—brighter than stars—lock onto Gawain's. Unlike before, she does not shy away; she has learned to hold him in her sight without fear.
Gawain pauses, then smiles and nods, "Of course."
When she hears his reply, Artoria's face lights up with a joyous radiance. Unlike the tentative smile of memory, this one shines with the certainty that she has finally earned her share of happiness. All because she found the person standing before her—someone who chose to stay by her side. Together, they will live their simple, shared joy.
[Having arranged for Rhedra Bitt to deliver the tools by cart, you and Artoria quickly move the smithing equipment from the cliffside workshop to your own forge in Manchester.]
[You formally begin your life running a blacksmith's forge.]
[As you and Artoria support one another over time, your affection for each other continues to grow.]
[Although life at the forge is modest and repetitive, each time Gawain sees Artoria's face, his fighting spirit rekindles.]
[Determined to care for Gawain, Artoria hones her cooking skills—her meals become heartier and more delightful.]
[Beyond forging weapons and armor, you study jewelry-making to create ornaments for Artoria's sake.]
[Knowing how much Artoria loves hairpins, you handcraft a simple hair ornament and present it to her.]
[Though the pin is rough and unpolished, Artoria accepts it with unbridled joy.]
[She replaces her old ornament with the one you made.]
[Queen's Calendar 2018, December: As Morgan Queen's rightful heir, Blood Queen Tristan ascends to Camelot's throne with little resistance.]
[However, only a small portion of Camelot's Royal Guard swear fealty to her; many knights flee to Manchester under Gawain's banner, while others rally to Faery Knight Lancelot.]
[After seizing Camelot, Blood Queen Tristan demands that Gawain and Lancelot pledge themselves to her and join forces against Northern Queen Noknarei.]
[Both Gawain and Lancelot refuse; enraged, Tristan begins mustering an army to attack Manchester.]
[Before she can deploy her forces, however, Blood Queen Tristan mysteriously dies within Camelot's keep—her intended assault on Manchester collapses.]
[Rumors abound: some claim she died as karmic retribution for her atrocities; others whisper of an assassin's blade.]
"Tristan's dead?" Gawain blinks at the text, stunned. "How so? Did Lancelot finally have his revenge?"
[Upon Tristan's death, her consort—Lord Beliar of Norwich—succeeds her and is crowned King of Faery Britain.]
[Compared to Blood Queen Tristan, Beliar's reign is even more savage. He seems to care nothing for rulership, finding pleasure only in wanton slaughter.]
[Queen's Calendar 2019, January: Rebellions erupt simultaneously in Norwich, New Darlington, Salisbury, Oxford, and Lentinum against Beliar's tyranny.]
[Northern Queen Noknarei seizes her chance and swiftly reconquers Norwich.]
[As the war intensifies, your Manchester smithy receives a flood of orders—Gawain's forged blades are in high demand. You and Artoria prosper immensely.]
"Excellent! Let them fight!" Gawain leaps to his feet, excitement shining in his eyes. "Yes—fight, fight, fight!"
[Queen's Calendar 2019, February: When the allied rebels lay siege to Camelot, Beliar appears before them—and everyone is shocked to see he has taken on the visage of the late Duke Woodworth of Oxford.]
[Not only does he resemble Woodworth in appearance, but he wields the same prodigious power.]
[Beliar ruthlessly slaughters the rebel coalition, suppressing the uprising single-handedly.]
"What on earth?" Gawain stares at the text in disbelief. I thought Woodworth was gone for good. How does Beliar suddenly become Woodworth? Some glitch? He half-laughs at the absurdity but sees no error.
[Queen's Calendar 2019, March: A fairy named Oberon visits Manchester.]
[He claims to be a new lieutenant of Noknarei and comes to discuss arms procurement with you.]
Gawain blinks—another unpredictable twist in an already wild tale. But now, with blades to forge, Artoria by his side, and at long last the simple life he yearned for, he faces whatever may come… together.