Back in the mausoleum there was a short silence before the majority of the occupants went back into the numerous rooms stored within the mausoleum's depths. They were somewhat like pocket dimensions often used in the various dungeons later reformed into guild bases in YGGDRASIL. The Great Tomb of Nazarick for example had been a dungeon that contained several floors leading up to a final boss that was eventually defeated by the newly formed guild Ainz Ooal Gown. These floors however, contained vastly different landscapes and environments that generally would not have had been able to be interconnectable in the same way as a desert couldn't exist within a tropical rainforest. Of course, YGGDRASIL was a game that could allow for such a thing, but the environments were generally rendered by different data crystals.

In this New World that everything seemed to have had been transferred to, these different data crystals that rendered different environments shifted into different dimensions found within the mausoleum.

Of the numerous NPCs that were once in the room, only a select few decided to remain behind, their gleaming armours and decorative silks eye-catching in the brightly lit room.

"Your majesty," A row of Knights gave their formal salute towards Arturia, the Raid-Boss of the Holy Kingdom of Camelot.

She glanced in their direction but didn't pay too much attention as her thoughts were still focused on the tumultuous emotions that had flickered across Shirou's eyes.

From her programming, she was generally a calm and composed individual who strived to build a Kingdom for the sake of others; a Holy land where the concepts of violence, hunger, and disorder were all but abolished. As such, she knew where her convictions and motivations lied, and yet when she had seen his face, for a moment, she had discovered a void forming in her heart. It was a feeling of loss and a yearning that she couldn't explain no matter how hard she contemplated.

Her lips pursed together, a crease forming on her forehead as she subconsciously glanced in the direction of the mausoleum's entrance, hoping to catch sight of his return. However, all that greeted her was a silent hall.

She closed her eyes, controlling her emotions, and temporarily putting them aside.

"Bedivere," she called out softly in the silence. "Did you see it too?"

One of the Knights standing in salute immediately reacted to the call: A man with long and tied-back blond coloured hair that wore silver plated armour that was a mismatch of leather and steel.

This man was named Bedivere, and the others standing from his left and right were Lancelot, Mordred, Gawain, Galahad, Tristan, and Agravain, the sub-bosses of the Holy City of Camelot in YGGDRASIL. Merlin himself had already left to another room, more interested in wooing the numerous other women he had seen within the mausoleum; their beauty too much for the fickle skirt chaser to resist, his latest target a lithe woman with long silk-like purple hair and wielding a barbed spear.

Arturia could only pretend that she didn't know her own Kingdom's Grand Wizard at that moment.

"See what, your majesty?" Bedivere replied puzzled, brows knitted together, believing himself to have had missed something substantial.

He wasn't the only one as Lancelot and the rest began to similarly think over the matter. As far as they were concerned, any issue their King would bring up had to have had some greater meaning.

Seeing the reaction of Bedivere and the rest of her Knights, Arturia decided to simple keep the observations she had made to herself for the time being.

"If you didn't see anything, then that's fine as well," she closed her eyes, before opening them again to see Agravain knelt before her followed by her other Knights.

Her brows shifted in surprise, but experience allowed her to maintain her neutral expression.

"I apologize on behalf of our negligence," Agravain spoke up after a moment.

He was a man with stern facial features and raven-black hair that framed his face down to his shoulders. Seeing the earnesty and loyalty in his gaze had never failed to reassure Arturia in her actions as a King.

"Rise, Agravain," Arturia said gently while placing a hand on Agravain's dark-tinted armour before motioning to everyone. "And the rest of you as well. There's no need to apologize for something that was too subtle to be noticed."

In fact, Arturia was convinced that she had been the only one to see her master's inner turmoil due to her close proximity, and yet she was quickly proven wrong when a boisterous voice echoed out behind her.

"You're talking about the sadness in the praetor's gaze?" the voice said. "Umu, these eyes of mine astound even myself."

Arturia stiffened for a moment, and actually felt a sense of relief. If it was only herself that had seen Shirou's expression, then who could say that she hadn't just been seeing things in the heat of the moment? Although she was certain of what she had seen, she hadn't been able to bring up the matter with Shirou before he left.

Still, why were the expressions of her Knights currently so rigid? Better yet, why was a flush working itself onto their faces to the point where Agravain grunted before shifting his gaze away?

Mordred herself was already openly laughing.

The thing about YGGDRASIL and the numerous NPCs Shirou had created in it, was that most of the NPCs rarely came into contact with each other. This was a result of the NPCs being made in different realms. Midgard was separated from Asgard for example, and unless the NPCs decided to move between realms through teleportation, interaction was impossible. The most the NPCs understood about each other was the general feeling that they had been created by the same person.

Nonetheless, for many NPCs that were present when Shirou had first gathered everyone, it was the first time seeing each other. Naturally, Arturia and the rest were no exception to this, so when Artuia finally turned around to see who had spoken to her, she nearly drew Excalibur forth at an impulse.

"Y-You, y-you," They were the only words that were able to come out of her mouth at the moment, and they were too garbled to make out.

The only thing Arturia was seeing at present was red. Red and an appearance that was almost identical to her own wearing the most revealing military dress that she had ever seen. The hem of the dress itself was basically transparent at the front and allowed all to see the tight white leotard worn beneath.

Arturia was visibly trembling, the heat rising to her face erupting like hellfire when she noticed the alluring and plump crevice from a hole located at the back of the dress.

She could see the uppermost region of a butt.

Her butt.

Perhaps she wouldn't have had cared so much if it was someone else, but the thing was, it was like looking at an image of her own body revealed for all to see like some prostitute. To the blond hair, to the petite figure, and even facial expression, it was all the same; making it all the more mortifying when she noticed her Knights glancing discreetly at her. Her neutral expression shattered in an instant, replaced by a vexation and fury none of her Knights had ever seen on her before.

The owner of the voice was Nero Claudius, the Raid-Boss of the Warring Empires in Alfheim, one of the most sought-after Raid-Bosses in YGGDRASIL.

"Ohh," Nero paused when she arrived around six feet away from Arturia and the rest, her eyes widening in surprise before smiling in confidence. "As I thought," she said nodding her head. "My genes are meant only for greatness."

"Shut up," Arturia said sternly, unable to take it anymore. "How can you be so shameless, look at yourself!"

"Hmm?" Nero hummed before glancing down at her body, a realization setting in as she laughed.

"Shameless? This?" She asked before shaking her head and pulling on the hem of her dress. "No, you misunderstand, umu, I let them see."

Nero twirled on her feet, her ankles acting as pivots on the floor as a rush of wind and red petals were released from her hands, floating to the ground like a scene from spring.

"I am Nero Claudius, the flower of Olympia, Empress of Rome," Nero introduced grandly. "And you, my distant relative must also be someone of repute. What gallant looking military commanders you have."

Nero then began inspecting Lancelot and the rest while walking around them, Arturia left stunned from Nero's introduction. In the history and memory Arturia had about herself, the Roman Empire was one that even she had heard of.

The Great Empire that was once at the center of the World, and possessing a land far larger than what Britain could ever hope to encompass. In fact, Britain had once been a part of the Roman Empire, making Nero's assumption on her relatedness far from unjustifiable. Only, wasn't Nero, Emperor of Rome supposed to be a man?

Then again, King Arthur was also supposed to be a man.

The more she thought on it, the more similar she realized Nero was to her. However, Arturia refused to acknowledge it when once again she caught herself staring at Nero's attire. Wordlessly, she took off her flowing blue mantle and attempted to cover Nero with it, only for Nero to refuse her gesture.

"Why should greatness be hidden?" Nero asked simply in response to Arturia's growing frustration. It was then that Nero actually scrutinized Arturia with narrowed eyes. "I see, so there were a few differences," she sighed.

"?"

Arturia had no idea what Nero was getting at, yet a part of her already knew that she wouldn't like the answer, more so when she noticed the pity in Nero's eyes.

"Here," Nero pointed at her face, a smile blooming upon it compared to Arturia's steady calm. "And here," she then pointed at her chest, the twin peaks bulging out from an open U-neck.

"See," Nero beamed. "Completely different. Still, comparison only begets jealousy my distant relative. Take heart though, you must at least have a great butt as well."

There was a silence, before Mordred's laughter erupted in the wide space of the mausoleum, only for some reason, the radiance of the room had shifted into mots of yellow light.

Nero took a step back, but didn't feel as if she had said anything wrong even as the sword in Arturia's hands flashed with murderous intent.

Tendrils of light and Holy energy were beginning to suffuse off of Arturia's form in sand-like waves.

"Give me one reason not to kill you?"

The voice that spoke was far from the patient voice of the beginning. Instead it was biting and curt.

However, Nero had faced numerous adversaries in her life, and this wasn't the first time she felt such oppression. Therefore, she grinned before answering.

"We were discussing about the Praetor?" She said, returning to the topic at hand.

Arturia froze for a moment, but grudgingly put away her sword when she realized that Nero was correct, and it was her that had ended up shifting matters.

"You saw it too?" Arturia asked to verify.

"If you're talking about the sadness and uncertainty I saw from the praetor, then yes," Nero nodded. "Maybe he was simply troubled by something?"

Arturia pondered over the matter, but couldn't think of anything she or anyone else had done to sadden Shirou in any way. In the end, her silence was telling enough. She didn't know and wouldn't jump to conclusions.

Nero crossed her arms, brows furrowing.

"If even you do not know, then its best to let the matter be," Nero decided. "Instead, it's better to find some way to ease the praetor's burdens."

Nero glanced outside at the lush trees she could see from the open entrance of the mausoleum and paused. "And I believe this artist knows of a way."

Arturia raised a brow, using all her self-control, to filter Nero's attire away from her vision.

"Can you see the trees?" Nero said. "In the Warring Empires in Alfeim, the landscape had always been flowing fields and rolling hills."

"Indeed," Lancelot spoke up. He was a man wearing purplish plated armour, and had his hair cropped short at the top. "Even Camelot's landscape was different from this."

"You both are missing the point though," Arturia rebuked. "Do you not recall the master bringing us elsewhere from where we generally resided? It's the reason we were able to see everyone else that the master created."

Lancelot fell silent, knowing his King's words to be the truth. Yet Nero was different, she continued.

"If that's the case, then why did it seem as if the praetor didn't know the area either?" Nero questioned. She had been observing Shirou from the moment he had left the mausoleum and had seen the way he had paused uncertainly before entering into the forest. "Wouldn't it be best if we scouted the area ahead? As a ruling monarch, you should know the importance of securing ones location before resting. This is clearly why the great praetor went out first, yet we don't know the danger he may face."

"The master always was very considerate. It wouldn't be a surprise if he would brave danger in our stead," Tristan said thoughtfully, rendering the entire area silent.

No matter what NPC Shirou had worked on, all of them understood the diligence and care he had placed into making them. More so for Arturia who could recall how angered Shirou had been for her sake when the first Players began attacking her and calling her a Boss.

"As expected of the Praetor," Nero smiled radiantly. "He is truly one worthy of my admiration."

Saying that, Nero began walking towards the direction of the mausoleum's entrance, intent on aiding Shirou in his current endeavor. Arturia and the others however were hesitating. They remembered that Shirou had said that 'he'd be back,' hinting at them to simply wait for him.

When Nero saw their indecision, she paused before saying something fairly simple.

"Umu, it's his honour that his servants are moving for his sake and benefit, yes," Nero said before turning around and staring Arturia straight in the eye. "That's why would you rather remain here, or would you rather help explore out there?"

Saying that, Nero promptly left without another word, disappearing into the trees.

Arturia stood rooted for a moment, her Knights looking to her for instruction.

And yet she didn't say anything until another moment passed.

For some reason or another, a part of her was telling her that not only was her master a caring sort of man, but a reckless sort of man too.

An image of a distant night flashed into her mind, one of violence and blood, and a fool who would intervene in a fight not even close to his calibre.

I want to fight by your side.

Her heart seemed to wrench in that moment, a sense of urgency taking root within her.

She winced as something in her very being seemed to burst forth, but she didn't care.

Instead, as Nero's words resounded in her head, she chose for once to forgo her own logic as a King and act upon the emotions within her.

She wanted to help.

And that's exactly what she would do.

The Roble Holy Kingdom was a Kingdom divided between its Northern and Southern inhabitants through a large bay splitting the areas apart. It was a sideward U with the North and South parties located on opposite ends of the U.

This created a natural barrier that maintained the balance of the two factions of the Kingdom and allowed for a tentative peace. However, such a peace was only brought about due to similar levels of military might. Should one side ever hold an advantage against the other, there would be no doubts that conflict would occur.

Recent events had already revealed the North and South's tense relationship when the North elected Calca Bessarez, a Princess of the Roble Holy Kingdom as the first Holy Queen. The Southern inhabitants protested against this sudden proclamation as Prince Caspond the eldest prince was more suitable for the position in their eyes. After all, Prince Caspond was the First Born and the rightful heir to the throne.

The rumours that were beginning to spread about Prince Caspond willingly giving up his birth right didn't matter. What did was the fact that the North ignored all voices of protest and formal discussion from the South and went along with their agendas.

It only helped that Calca was generally well received in the North due to her kindness, intuition, and the support of the Custodio siblings; One of which was even a member of the Nine Colours, Roble Holy Kingdom's strongest.

Naturally, the South was forced to stew in anger as their military forces were roughly equal with the North's where the majority of the Royal Family resided. Furthermore, a civil war was something that neither North or South desired due to the nature of their neighbors.

The warring tribes of the Demi-Humans of the Abelion Hills, an area filled with wilderness and mountain-like rolling hills that lied between the borders of the Slane Theocracy, one of the major Human Kingdoms.

Demi-Humans were always perceived as a threat by the inhabitants of the Roble Holy Kingdom. Not only were Demin-Humans generally more physically capable, but they each possessed unique abilities and magics reserved solely for their race. The most recent example in the Roble Kingdom's history was the invasion of the Srush, a Demi-Human race with venomous tongues and suckers on their hands. It was the main reason that the Sruch were able to bypass the Great Wall built around the Holy Kingdom to keep the Demi-Humans out.

Caught unprepared numerous citizens of the Holy Kingdom died before the Sruch were eventually forced back and new defensive tactics were implemented. Still, the new defenses weren't unbreachable, and neither the North or South factions of the Holy Kingdom wished to squander their reserve forces through war in the unlikely chance another breach by the Demi-Humans occurred.

As such, tensions remained high after Calca Bessarez was instated as the First Holy Queen, leading to the present situation.

In the South controlled mainly by the aristocracy and Noble Families, infighting had already begun to occur since even before Calca's election.

Power and Authority were the only things that seemed to matter in the Aristocracy's eyes, and many seeking greater influence wished to annex smaller or weakened Nobility.

Such was the concept of greed and ambition.

If the North could elect a new Holy Queen and ignore Prince Caspond's Birth Right, then the South could raise a sole figure-head to oppose the new Queen's rule and policies. A figure head decided by who amongst the Aristocracy had the most sway and influence.

Simplified, it was the Noble who controlled the most land, forces, and support of the others. Yet, which Noble didn't have pride in themselves to not believe that they were the worthiest to lead the South alone?

Therefore, even if the North saw the South currently as a peaceful collection of Nobles opposing them, the undercurrents of the South were far from tranquil.

Vincent Berferd would be the first to approve such a description.

He was a man with long flowing dirty-blond hair held up in a ponytail falling down past the small of his back, and possessing the natural grace of a Noble. For his family line was one of the first to establish themselves from the beginning of the Roble Holy Kingdom's founding near two-centuries ago. The emblem of the crossed spear and sword sewn into the mantle hung over the shoulder-straps of his current hunting garbs were enough proof of his identity in the Holy Kingdom.

A Duke, owning a substantial portion of land filled with his subjects.

Yet this emblem was the present root of his misery.

"After him, he went that way!"

Voices travelled overhead, gruff and hurried, mixed with urgency and the thumping of heavy footsteps.

Vincent slowed his breath, pressing his body down harder against the ground in the undershrub in hopes of burying himself within the leaves and foliage that proliferated unchecked in the wilderness.

It had been a traditional hunting trip passed down from father to son, and at the eve of his twentieth summer, it was his turn to take up the tradition. To hunt for a special kind of animal found in the wilderness that bordered the boundaries of the North. An animal called a blood wolf known for leaving behind the mark of a fang on the wrists of those that had slayed its kind, allowing other members of the species to take revenge. However, it was this mark itself that garnered the greatest honour to the Berferd Family for it would never fade and would act as a symbol of power for the Berferd Family head.

Regardless of how difficult it was to kill a blood wolf, Vincent himself couldn't shy away from the task for the sake of his father.

As such, he had taken an entourage of his personal guards and ventured forth to hunt as tradition required. Only, he didn't expect relations between the Nobles of the South to be so strained that they would target him in hopes of weakening the Berferd Family's strength.

Vincent gritted his teeth as his ears perked up to listen to the noise around him, waiting until the forest itself fell silent before shifting himself to a more comfortable position.

It was true that the Berferd Family's strength was already declining, but that didn't mean that it was because of a lack of management. Instead, it was a result of the changing times and the family's misfortune in regards to capable heirs.

Nonetheless, this wasn't exactly a point that Vincent wanted to think about at the moment as he deemed it safe enough to inspect his surroundings.

His entourage of guards had long since separated from, and were most likely routed and killed by the enemy.

His expression turned grim, mourning the loss of those who had been by his side since adolescence.

He hated it.

The fact that he was dragged into all of this.

In the first place, the Berferd Family had already raised its stance on the issues regarding the other Nobility in the Southern Roble Kingdom. They wouldn't be participating and would simply wait until a conclusion was reached no matter how long it took.

However, the Berferd Family possessed a strategic plot of land that acted as a buffer zone between the hostile Southern Aristocracy of one side, and the Aristocracy of the other. Their land was vital in order to tip the tides on any side's favour, and the Berferd Family had consequently neglected this issue.

After all, the Berferd Family was a family that fought alongside the original Holy Maiden of the Roble Holy Kingdom. The Valkyrie Knight Wielding the Holy Blade which fought against the Evil Deities that annihilated entire civilizations and Kingdoms.

There were certain ideals and iron clad beliefs that were solidified in the Family.

A concept carried by the Holy Maiden long after she had disappeared along with her Holy Sword.

The Oaths of Chivalry.

A Code of Honour passed down in memory through the Berferd Family line.

A way of living by virtue of trust and faith.

The Southern Noble Families had sworn to leave the Berferd Family out of the political struggles, and it was through tradition that the Berferd Family fully believed them.

Despite Vincent's current predicament, he never once turned his back on the values he was raised with, for he believed in the stories of the past spoken to him by his grandfather.

To remain a Champion of the Right and the Good, and to defeat the Evil and Unjust.

Believe in one's self, and those around.

Struggling to his feet, Vincent panted from exhaustion, but quickly limped off in hopes of escaping. The men that had been chasing after him for the past hour were still in the area, and any chances he had of surviving relied on his ability to send word to his father.

His feet hurt, the leather boots he was wearing doing little to stop the pain of the blisters sending acute stinging sensations throughout his body.

And yet, he persevered forward, relying mainly on intuition and the positioning of the sun in the sky to map out which direction to follow.

Minutes passed, the soft sound of feet rustling against the ground echoing throughout the forest canopy.

Before Vincent knew it, he felt a keen sense of danger that forced him to shoot towards the ground.

An arrow passed overhead, tinged with poison and pinning itself into the bark of the tree behind him.

"Cowards!" He yelled out, drawing forth his sword from his waist.

It wasn't a magic or Holy Sword used by Paladins and Knights, but one of regular make and steel.

"Come out and fight if you wish to kill me! What good does hiding your faces away like petty assassins do for your honours!?" Vincent seethed.

Silence, nothing but the sound of falling leaves, granted Vincent understood why the enemies were being so precautious. There was a risk involved should Vincent see the faces of his assailants and then somehow manage to get away.

It was true that Vincent was chased around before, but based on the clothing and personalities of his chasers, they were hired bandits at best. This archer however was clearly trained, and must be affiliated with another Noble.

They would not take unnecessary risks.

Vincent slouched in a combination of fatigue and helplessness.

"Why?!" He ended up asking. "On your Lord's Honour, an Oath was made. Will you break it so brazenly and without guilt!?"

This time, Vincent heard the distinct sound of a breath.

"Honour? Guilt?" The voice that spoke was smug, and was somehow able to emit from various places at once; possibly the result of a transmission-type tier-one magic. "You think such traditions are worth anything these days? Ambition and progression are all that matter, and the results can justify the means."

Silence.

"Oaths and promises?" The voice began as the distinct sound of an arrow being nocked resounded. "The beliefs and virtues of fools. Goodbye Lord Berferd."

The arrow was let loose, the poisoned tipped metal enlarging quickly in Vincent's view, but he stood still, unable to do anything in his bitterness.

The Roble Holy Kingdom as described by his ancestors should have had been a Kingdom of righteousness. The Holy Maiden, an example that should have had been used to exemplify proper character, and not split off into numerous other teachings like the Paladin's Order.

Where was the justice his grandfather had spoken of?

Where was the ideal Kingdom of the masses?

Why was it that all he saw through his life was one treachery after another?

Questions filled his mind, but in the end, he realized that he didn't care. He would live and die by the values he had cherished since his youth.

He resolved himself as the arrow drew near, but unexpectedly, it stopped just before it pierced his eye, an armoured hand gripping it by its shaft.

"As I thought," a soft voice entered his ears, calm and soothing, an aura of pale blue magic exuding outwards like a torch.

"I can watch this no longer."

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