Gawain slapped his own cheek as he watched the confession suddenly unfold on the simulator screen.
"What—System, what are you doing? What on earth is this sim running? It's far too sudden—who confesses that quickly?! This isn't me—I absolutely refuse to admit I'd ever act like that!"
At that moment, a single line of text blinked onto the display:
[Artoria has accepted your confession.]
Gawain fell silent for two long seconds—then, a self-satisfied grin spread across his face as he stroked his chin.
"...As expected of me! Decisiveness incarnate!"
The scene then shifted. The words faded away, replaced by a view of Salisbury's streets at the height of the festival. Lanterns and banners draped every thoroughfare, human and faery faces alike alight with gentle joy.
In a quiet corner of one such street, Gawain sat on a bench beside Artoria, both dressed in their finest attire. Clearing his throat, he stole a glance at her: she was gazing down at the cobbles, as though admiring some hidden blossom.
With a careful hand in his pocket, he fished out the gift he had prepared for her. After a moment's fumbling, he revealed the exquisite hair ornament he had purchased. When he turned back to offer it, he saw Artoria's eyes fixed on the pin—and her slender hand flew to her lips, stifling a gasp as her eyes glimmered with unshed tears.
Alongside her surprise and delight, a wistful sorrow flickered in those emerald depths.
"Um…" Gawain ventured softly. Artoria's gaze darted away toward the street, and her hand, once covering her mouth, moved to smooth a stray lock of hair.
"Would you—may I help you put it on?" he asked gently.
Artoria did not reply, not even meeting his eyes; she only pressed her lips together.
When she remained silent, Gawain hesitated—for two heartbeats—then chose to take her consent. He rose slightly, raised his hand, and brought the hairpin toward her hair.
As his fingers touched her locks, Artoria's body gave a small shudder. With a faint rustle, the ornament slipped slightly crooked.
"Er…" Embarrassed, Gawain cleared his throat, ready to withdraw—but Artoria suddenly clasped his hand.
Her cool, delicate fingers curled around his palm and back of his hand, and Gawain froze at the exquisite sensation. He felt her gentle tug, guiding his hand to lift again and adjust the pin until it sat perfectly in her hair.
At that instant, her eyes—shy but unwavering—met his. Gawain held his breath, his pupils dilating as if time itself had slowed. He beheld her radiant face and the earnest warmth in her gaze, his heart pounding uncontrollably.
Her lips curved into a soft smile, eyes brimming with tenderness.
Just then, a sharp crack split the air behind him, followed by a thunderous boom—festive fireworks had begun.
Though he missed the first bloom of color overhead, Gawain saw its reflection in Artoria's eyes: a fleeting, dazzling glow.
Time resumed its course. Having straightened her hairpin, Gawain quickly withdrew his hand, too flustered even to cherish the lingering warmth of her touch. He turned his face away and took a deep breath.
When he finally risked another glance, Artoria had lowered her hand and bowed her head. All he could see were her blush-flushed ears. He opened his mouth to speak, then found himself at a loss for words, scratching his cheek awkwardly.
As anxious thoughts swirled, he felt a tiny tug at his sleeve. Looking down, he saw Artoria had grasped his cuff, gently pulling him closer. Catching his gaze, she raised her other hand and pointed upward.
"Fireworks…" she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh—yes, of course!" Embarrassed, Gawain nodded and lifted his eyes to the sky, pretending to study the fireworks with rapt attention.
Only then did Artoria shyly raise her own head. Her gaze traveled upward—from his side profile to his face—and stopped there, never straying again.
"...They're beautiful," she whispered.
When the confession scene on the simulator ended, Gawain pressed a hand to his chest and collapsed to the floor. He felt as though his heart had been pierced.
He writhed across the carpet like a wounded creature until he tumbled off the bed with a crack against the nightstand.
[After confirming your relationship with Artoria, you begin planning for a more permanent home.]
[To raise Morgans for a house, you resume your "mystery pouch" enterprise with Artoria.]
[The lucky-draw bundles, featuring Gloucester's finest goods as top prizes, yield substantial profit.]
[You invest the earnings in your own workshop.]
[Artoria shifts away from risky magical trinkets, focusing instead on crafting unique handicrafts that find a ready market in Salisbury.]
[Your lives settle into a steady rhythm.]
[Queen's Calendar 2018 May: Woodworth's siege of Sheffield is repelled by the southern Noknarei army.]
[After raising the siege, in exchange for quelling Calamity in Norwich, Bogart swears fealty to Noknarei.]
[Queen's Calendar 2018 July: Calamity strikes Norwich; Noknarei personally leads her forces to confront it.]
[Noknarei's army defeats Calamity but at great cost—Bogart falls in battle, and Noknarei herself is grievously wounded, ending her advance on the Treasury City.]
[The army withdraws northward, holding Sheffield and Edinburgh.]
[Queen's Calendar 2018 August: Lord Spriggan abandons Treasury City and reclaims land in Norwich.]
[While inventorying estates, Spriggan is assassinated by Faery Knight Tristan.]
[Tristan seizes Treasury City and, as the sole heir to Queen Morgan, crowns himself Lord of Norwich.]
"Oh—Faery Tristan?" Gawain sprang to his feet, astonished.
Tristan was famed as one of the three Faery Knights of Britain and an available heroic spirit—and yet she'd made no moves until now. Perhaps she'd finally found her moment.
[After Tristan's conquest of Norwich, terrified survivors flee en masse to other cities.]
[Tristan establishes the Theatre of Blood in Norwich, ruling with ruthless terror.]
[Queen's Calendar 2018 September: Tristan invades Oxford; Lord Woodworth leads its defense.]
[Woodworth is slain by Tristan.]
"Holy—" Gawain shot upright.
What on earth? Was Woodworth even mortal? And Tristan—the "Shame of Faery Knights"—had defeated him? Surely there must be some mistake.
[After Woodworth's death, his Yashino Clan army collapses and is slaughtered. Survivors recount how Tristan sawed off their feet with golden threads, forced them to kill each other, then laughed amid the carnage.]
[Tristan's reputation soars; fearful faeries dub her the "Blood Queen."]
[She occupies Oxford; the remnant Yashino scatter, leaving her with an empty city.]
[Refugees from Norwich and Oxford flood into Salisbury, and crime rises.]
[Three days later, Tristan's forces march on Salisbury.]
[Faced with this threat, Lord Aurora summons all her guards—including you—to the cathedral.]
[She condemns Tristan's savagery and vows that if Tristan breaches Salisbury, its people will die together—urging you to stand firm.]
[The guards' morale soars.]
[In this dire hour, you must decide:]
A: "I pledge my heart to Lady Aurora! I will stay and defend Salisbury!"
B: "There's only one answer! I'll secretly side with Tristan and serve as her spy."
C: "I can't stay in this hellhole. Time to pack up and bolt!"
Gawain needed no time to reject A. Help Aurora? He knew her true nature—and had no desire to serve under a "green tea" schemer.
And Tristan? She might spare him as a turncoat, then cut his throat for sport. He certainly didn't want to serve alongside that conniving Beliar, either.
So his choice was clear…
[Tristan's approach sends Salisbury into panic. You're assigned to maintain order.]
[Feigning duty, you slip away to gather Artoria and flee.]
[She does not hesitate to follow you into exile.]
[Though your first thought is to head east to Lentinum, you instead flee north—away from Tristan's forces.]
[Knowing every patrol route, you evade your comrades and reach the north gate easily.]
[Unluckily, Tristan's army has already attacked the city before your escape.]
[She's posted ambushes at the north gate too, slaughtering fleeing faeries without mercy.]
[In desperation, you rally the refugees and charge through Tristan's lines.]
[Fortune favors you: the troops at the north gate are not her main force, and your skill lets you carve an escape route with a band of Yashino survivors.]
[Tragically, in the chaos, you and Artoria become separated.]
[You search desperately for her.]
[You ambush a Tristan patrol and capture a soldier.]
[From him you learn: Artoria has been taken prisoner to Tristan's main encampment.]
—The simulation halts there, leaving Gawain's fate—and Artoria's—in the balance.