The undead guests weren't exactly easy to deal with, but that was all they were—annoying, not threatening.
Once Gawain pointed out the trick, the others quickly changed tactics. Instead of trying to kill the monsters outright, they simply tossed them one by one off the balcony, into the lake. One after another, the grotesque guests splashed into the waters below, leaving only trails of bubbles on the surface.
Surprisingly, Shakespeare didn't interfere. He merely watched the actors on his stage get hurled into the lake to feed the fish, smiling faintly, turning his head slightly as if savoring a subtle turn of phrase. He observed everything with a gentle sigh, as if he found it all quite poetic.
When the last of the guests had been cast into the lake and Gawain turned to look at him again, Shakespeare suddenly clapped his hands together with flourish and declared:
"Bravo! It appears you've seen through every little trick of mine. In that case, I must admit defeat!"
"Huh?" Gawain blinked. "That's it? You don't have, like, a Phase Two or anything?"
"Nope." Shakespeare spread his arms. "I'm just a playwright, after all. You've thrown all my actors into the lake. What else can I possibly do?"
But Gawain wasn't buying a single word of it.
Come on. As if Shakespeare would be that easy to deal with.
He might not be a combat-type Servant, but the man was a master of psychological warfare. If he truly intended to be an obstacle, Gawain was certain he'd be a thousand times more difficult to handle than this. There was no way he was just another Babage—someone who had good intentions but was cornered into doing evil.
Besides, according to Babage's journal, Shakespeare had been more than eager in helping Marjory in her apocalyptic plans.
And just as Gawain was mulling over what kind of wicked twist Shakespeare might be hiding up his sleeve, golden light began to shimmer around the playwright's body. Slowly, he started to fade.
"You see," Shakespeare said, pointing at the gaping wound on his chest where Bavanzi's arrow had struck, "I really don't have much combat ability. That arrow was fatal for me. I only remained because my Noble Phantasm wasn't over yet. But now that my stage is empty, it's time for me to bow out."
"Wait… seriously?"
As Gawain hesitated, a familiar system prompt flashed before his eyes:
[Target Nightmare Incarnation No. 7: Blemchas—Witness of the End, has been eliminated.]
[Quest complete. Please collect your reward: "The King in Yellow - Transcript: Truth" from the boss drop.]
"Huh?" Gawain stared blankly.
The system message confirmed it—Shakespeare had been defeated.
Just like that?
"You're starting to believe it now, aren't you?" Shakespeare smiled, shrugging.
"Though if you really want me to put up more of a fight, I suppose I could arrange something. But narratively speaking, your battle to save humanity has reached its climax. Bigger threats await you beyond this, and I'm merely a gatekeeper. There's no need for excessive dramatics just to defeat a lowly guard."
He stroked his well-groomed goatee, then continued:
"I also promised to tell you why I helped Marjory, didn't I? Well, allow me to explain now."
He propped himself up with effort and pulled a slim notebook from his coat, flipping through it casually.
"It's quite simple, really. I just wanted to see it. The legendary script of The King in Yellow—sealed away by the Clock Tower long ago. I wanted to witness it with my own eyes and direct it on stage. That's all."
He smiled faintly.
"A rare chance to direct such a grand performance... How could I resist? But that doesn't mean I wanted the King in Yellow to actually manifest. That would be dreadfully boring—if the world ends, I won't be summoned again to cause mischief! Where's the fun in that?"
"Wait... that's it?" Gawain and the others were stunned. "You aided an apocalyptic plan… for fun? You, the greatest writer among Heroic Spirits, are obsessed with this play just because it's interesting?"
"Is that so strange?" Shakespeare blinked innocently. "I find 'interesting' to be a perfectly valid motive. But if you insist on a deeper reason…"
For the first time, he dropped his trademark grin and adopted a rare, solemn expression.
"Because it was Marlowe's final work."
"That's reason enough for me."
With those words, and before Gawain could ask more, Shakespeare's body began to rapidly disintegrate. In a blink, he vanished into a streak of golden light—leaving behind only the script he held, which fell to the floor with a soft thud.
"So that's what he said in the end…"
"And who exactly was this Marlowe guy?"
"That's everything, Nursery Rhyme," Gawain said. "Please pass this on to Ritsuka Fujimaru and the others."
As Nursery Rhyme relayed the dream-world events and Gawain's final words, Ritsuka couldn't help but chuckle wryly.
"Honestly, that last sentence… wasn't really necessary, you know?"
"But what if Mr. Gawain's words contained a hidden clue that needed exact phrasing to solve?" Nursery Rhyme replied seriously. "I had to repeat it verbatim!"
"You've been reading too many fairy tales," Andersen grumbled.
"...Or maybe Nursery Rhyme's just doing her job diligently," Ritsuka said, patting her on the head with a smile. As Nursery's slight pout faded into a proud grin, she turned back to the comms. "Dr. Roman, about this Marlowe guy—do you have anything on him?"
"I've got a vague memory," Roman replied. "Give me a second to look it up…"
After a brief pause, he returned with information:
"Found him. As I thought, the Marlowe who wrote The King in Yellow was Christopher Marlowe. Born 1564 in Canterbury to a wealthy shoemaker. Same birth year as Shakespeare. Died in 1593—stabbed during a tavern brawl."
"He was a brilliant playwright. Although most people only know Shakespeare when it comes to Elizabethan literature, Marlowe was actually just as important. He was controversial, though. Because of his radical views, he was marginalized and criticized by the mainstream for centuries."
"Still, many scholars agree: Marlowe was the only one in that era whose literary achievements rivaled Shakespeare's."
"Shakespeare led a careful life—wrote, managed his theater company, made a fortune in real estate, and retired peacefully. Marlowe, on the other hand, lived like a firework: daring, flamboyant, reckless. He was a secret agent for the Crown, got entangled with politicians and explorers, earned a master's degree from Cambridge, served time in prison, and died young in a bar fight."
"Some think he and Shakespeare were rivals, but evidence suggests otherwise."
"In fact, during Marlowe's lifetime, he was the unrivaled star of the Elizabethan stage. Shakespeare was just starting out then—some even say he was Marlowe's apprentice. One famous critic said, 'Had Shakespeare died at 29, he'd never have measured up to Marlowe.'"
"There are undeniable parallels. Shakespeare borrowed heavily from Marlowe's style, and the two even co-authored Henry VI. For a time, people speculated that Shakespeare plagiarized Marlowe's work, though that theory doesn't hold water—their philosophies were worlds apart. Shakespeare explored humanity's complexity, while Marlowe pursued passion and power."
"Still, some joke that Christopher Marlowe might've been the man Shakespeare loved most."
"Shakespeare's beloved… huh. Wouldn't surprise me."
Back in the nightmare realm, Gawain couldn't help but chuckle as he flipped through the Transcript of the King in Yellow that Shakespeare had dropped.
The two lunatics really might've been kind of gay.
Shakespeare, the ever-careful man in life, had turned into a chaotic trickster in death. A true agent of mischief, driven by nothing but curiosity and fun. This time, he even joined the apocalyptic villains just to summon an Eldritch god… all because it was interesting.
"After your death, I lived as you." That was the vibe he gave off.
And his final motive? Just to stage one last play—a friend's final work, unseen by the world.
Perhaps it was guilt, perhaps vengeance for the friend corrupted by the King in Yellow. But in the last pages of the manuscript, Shakespeare had even included notes on how to undo the summoning ritual—how to stop Hastur from descending.
With a deep breath, Gawain turned his eyes to the prize in his hands:
[Special Item: Transcript of The King in Yellow — "Truth" Edition]
[Type: ???]
[Rarity: ???]
[One of only three known copies of the mysterious play "The King in Yellow." Simply holding it draws the attention of some nameless presence from above.]
[Depending on who holds it, the transcript grants different effects. As you are not the original owner and already possess another transcript, you instead inherit the last bearer's granted ability.]
[Current Effect — "Book of Truth": When in the presence of certain special entities, this transcript allows you to access forbidden knowledge about them.]
[Unlike the others, this copy bears the signature of Christopher Marlowe on the cover.]
With this new prize, the name of Gawain's original transcript also changed, becoming Transcript of the King in Yellow: "Revelation."
And at the end of the new one, aside from the full script, Shakespeare had appended a detailed guide—his personal notes on what would come next, including a plan so bold and insane it could only be his.
"At last, we've found the key," Gawain said, tucking the two scripts away and turning to the others.
"It's time to move."
"According to the transcript, once we leave the palace and follow the lake's edge, we'll find a small dock. There should be a boat there."
"A boat?" Bavanzi frowned. "Don't tell me…"
"Yes." Gawain nodded gravely.
"To reach Marjory, we'll need to sail across Lake Hali, all the way to its far shore."
"To the City of a Thousand Towers—Carcosa."