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IBHJ 1187
🕑 Added 2025-02-20 23:23:42 +0000 UTCMeanwhile, Guinevere was bound like a helpless rabbit caught by wolves—small, frightened and trembling. The situation felt dangerous, so she decided it was safer to stay quiet for now.
"You—" Mordred stopped mid-sentence, her expression shifting as she sensed something. "What's that...?"
A strange power was gathering around them.
"Oh my, they're back again." Morgan smiled. "Whatever we need to discuss can wait, let's deal with them first!"
Mordred stepped out of the cave and found herself staring into what looked like the abyss itself with massive wandering souls circling overhead.
"What are these..."
"Fomorian ghosts from the abyss. Scathach's been trying to contain them here so they can't manifest in our reality," Morgan explained as she emerged behind her.
"That's not what I'm worried about," Mordred shook her head and pointed. "But that—how did that thing even get down here..."
She followed Mordred's gesture with puzzled eyes, only to see a broken mecha. "What in the world is that?"
"That's the Empire's Apostle, Galahad," Mordred said grimly. "I never thought he'd also end up in this place!"
"Grrrooooaaarrrr!!"
The massive swarm of Fomorian ghosts split into two, their fangs and claws bared as they dove toward both Galahad and Mordred.
...
Bedivere trudged toward the distant village, his eyes hollow.
The weight of his betrayal crushed him, especially knowing it had led to Ector's death. Fear for the Empire had driven him down this treacherous path... and what he'd witnessed, combined with his loyalty to the Emperor, had hardened his resolve. Yet that resolve felt like poison now.
Right or wrong—no one could tell him, no one could guide him through this maze of loyalty and betrayal. The contradictions tore at him worse than any physical pain, worse than falling into hell or being cut by a thousand blades.
--"Your smile will become hope for others."
The Emperor's words had once made him happy, and he lived by them. He'd taken them to heart, greeting everyone with gentleness until people said he was as warm as the sun.
But now those same words had become his prison.
If the Emperor had never spoken them, perhaps he wouldn't have clung so desperately to this path. His betrayal of the Empire, turning against friends, Ector's death, his own convictions, the Emperor's praise... Guilt, sin, stubborn loyalty—every emotion, good and bad, churned inside his mind, doubling his agony.
"Maybe death is the only escape." The thought kept resurfacing.
A message arrived from a member of Hope, requesting a meeting.
Bedivere knew how precarious his position was. Mordred had even issued a death warrant against him. His actions now had surely earned him the label of "Traitor" from the Pan-Human History side, and they were probably already plotting his elimination.
But… perhaps that was for the best.
If they were to strike him down, if he could fall into eternal sleep like Ector...
Then he would finally be free.
He would no longer have to balance loyalty against betrayal. With these bleak thoughts, Bedivere reached the village and entered the designated house, where his contact was already waiting.
"You've come, Bedivere," the Apostle, a member of Hope, greeted him.
Bedivere nodded, taking a seat across from him. "What couldn't be discussed through normal channels? Unless—"
The Apostle snapped his fingers. With a deafening "BOOM," the house collapsed around them. A hundred strong Divine Guards poured out from the surrounding buildings, encircling Bedivere.
"This is where you die, Bedivere!" the Apostle snarled.
Bedivere's eyes swept over the guards before settling on his former ally. Instead of anger, he asked calmly, "I take it Hope... has disbanded?"
The Apostle's fierce expression softened as he looked at Bedivere's hollow expression. After a heavy pause, he spoke: "Ector is dead... and the empire's eternal barrier has fallen."
"Then Hope has disbanded?" Bedivere asked again.
"What we believed in, what we thought... it was all just wishful thinking. Agravain caught us after following you, infected us with the poison—but His Majesty forgave us. We were wrong, and you were too. But you alone are beyond His Majesty's forgiveness."
"—So Hope has disbanded?" he asked again, as if he hadn't heard anything else.
"Yes. Hope... should never have existed. Sir Agravain was right all along."
Bedivere closed his eyes. "I was also corrupted by the poison... so come."
This was for the best.
His mind had already gone astray, and only death could convince him now.
Yes, this was fine.
This way, he could finally escape the prison of his own thoughts.
"Farewell, Sir Bedivere." The Apostle raised his hand, and the Divine Guards began to close in as Bedivere shut his eyes.
But then—
Everything changed in an instant.
One of the guards suddenly twisted, his arm sweeping through his fellow guards like a scythe, sending them tumbling away before grabbing Bedivere's wrist.
"Sir Garand?" Bedivere gasped.
"Run!" A deep voice commanded from beneath the helmet as he yanked Bedivere away.
"After them!" The Apostle drew his sword with a roar. "Garand, Bedivere, you stubborn traitors! I'll take your heads to His Majesty and wash away my sins!"
Garand was a unique figure among the Empire's Apostles. His thin mustache and shifty eyes fit his reputation perfectly. Unlike Aife with her legendary spear skills or Agravain with his brilliant strategies, Garand was famous for his cunning and unpredictable nature.
They called him the Cunning One, and no one in the Empire truly liked him—not even Bedivere. Before Hope even existed, if anyone had asked who might betray the Emperor, every finger would have pointed to Garand. Sure enough, he'd been among the first to join the underground movement.
"Let me go, Sir Garand," Bedivere pulled his wrist free.
"Sir Bedivere... all our Hope comrades have surrendered. Will you give up too?" Garand searched Bedivere's hollow gaze.
"Ector is dead," Bedivere said heavily.
For all his craftiness and shifting loyalties, Garand was still an Apostle who'd shared millions of years with his companions. Even he couldn't be unmoved by Ector's death.
"I know. Everyone knows. That's why Hope crumbled. But should we abandon everything because of this? What about our true loyalty to His Majesty?"
"The Empire's changes, His Majesty's transformation... we were just seeing what we wanted to see! The one on the imperial throne is the true Emperor! I saw it—I saw His Majesty's punishment rain down from the heavens. We've been deceiving ourselves! We were wrong all along!"
After seeing the Emperor's arm descend from the sky, how could he deny the truth about who sat on the throne?
"Can you say those words again while looking into your heart, Sir Bedivere?" Garand's gaze was intense.
It should have been simple. The truth was obvious, their thinking had been wrong, they'd just been wrapped up in their self-righteous notion of loyalty to the Emperor. And yet... Bedivere found the words dying in his throat.
"You can't lie to yourself, just as I can't. You might not know this, but before I became an Apostle, before this empire achieved eternity, I was a druid who devoted himself to healing. But my appearance made people see me as a devil, a trickster. Eventually, I gave in—became the deceiver they thought I was. It was His Majesty who found me during His travels and pulled me from that pit of self-loathing."
"He told me, 'A garden where flowers wither cannot nurture the soul. True beauty isn't found in fine silks or precious gems, but in a compassionate heart, hard-earned wisdom, and noble deeds. Remember - within you burns an eternal light, a peace that transcends mere physical appearance.'" Garand's voice softened. "Although too much time has passed for me to remember His Majesty's face before His ascension, those words remain branded in my mind."
"He saved me, and for that I pledged myself as his servant and became an Apostle. Known for deception, yet I could never deceive His Majesty—or myself."
He looked at Bedivere with intense eyes. "The one sitting on the imperial throne is NOT our Emperor!"
"But how can you be so sure? How do you know this isn't just what you want to believe?" Bedivere's voice rose with desperation.
"I don't know. But I'm fighting for my Emperor. Even if I'm wrong, I'll keep being wrong until the end."
"And what of the Empire? This could destroy everything..."
"So what?" Garand shot back. "I love the Empire because of His Majesty, became an Apostle because of His Majesty, and endured these endless years because of His Majesty. If we have to burn this world down for His Majesty's sake, then so be it!" His eyes blazed with wild faith, showing devotion and madness in his gaze.
Comments
Azelios Rosemile
Shirou should have made more friends in his king days. It would be more interesting to see more of Garand lore
