Tiamat, I'm Going to Find a Girlfriend! (Ending)

"..." "..." The breaking of the Sword of Promised Victory, Caliburn, brought the match between Artoria and Mélusine to an abrupt halt. Mélusine, especially, felt as if she had done something wrong. "This... how could this..." But what Mélusine didn't know was—looking at the cracked golden sword in her hand, Artoria's heart felt not sadness, but a sense of relief. She felt that something that had long been shackling her had finally been broken. "It's alright, Mélusine. I was the one who got too serious. Rest assured, I won't blame you. Everything I said before still stands." After saying this, Artoria departed, holding the broken Caliburn. Mélusine was left standing there alone, at a complete loss. Morgan, however, paid her no mind at all. The princess of Britain felt that Artoria's reaction was a bit off. "Ian, I'm going to check on Artoria." "Okay."

Quickly catching up, Morgan soon reached Artoria's side. "Your Majesty." Although they were sisters, Morgan still addressed Artoria this way in public. After all, she had promised to keep the secret of her gender. "Oh, it's you, Sister Morgan. What is it?" "The sword..." Morgan said directly, looking at the Caliburn in Artoria's hand, which looked like it could shatter at any moment. "Is it broken?" "Not at all, it's just—" "You don't have to lie to me." Before Artoria could finish, Morgan cut her off. "While my knowledge of weaponry is only partial, I'm not blind. It's broken. No matter how you try to cover it up, you can't change that fact." "Alright," Artoria said, no longer offering any explanation. "You are correct. Caliburn... does appear to be broken." "To think such a thing could happen," Morgan said with a cold laugh, shaking her head. "This was the sword specially prepared for you, wasn't it? How could it break?" "..." Sensing the hidden meaning in Morgan's words, Artoria's tone also became serious. "Sister, what are you trying to say? If you have some dissatisfaction with me, you might as well say it directly." "How could I be dissatisfied with you, my dear sister?" Morgan took the cracked sword from Artoria's hand. "I just want to know, now that the Sword in the Stone has become like this, what do you plan to do next?"

"..." "Nothing will change." Artoria looked off into the distance, her pupils reflecting the laughing faces of her people. "I did not wish to be King because of that sword, nor did I come here for that sword. Without it, I am still Artoria. Without it, I am still King Arthur. I already understand what must be done, and for whom it must be done." "So—" Artoria looked at Morgan beside her. "You don't need to worry about me."

"..." "I was never worried about you," Morgan said, handing the broken Caliburn back to Artoria. "And I don't care what you think. But—if you occasionally want to take a break, it's not a big problem. You're not the only one in Camelot who can get things done. You're not the only one who worries for this land. If you fail, someone will immediately replace you." "That may never happen, Sister. I have no intention of resting." The unfinished selection trial thus passed. The already complex relationship between the sisters of Britain became even more delicate.

On the other side, Mélusine was in a panic. "It's all your fault! What do I do now?!" Mélusine cried, grabbing Ian's clothes. "If you hadn't insisted on carrying me back, none of this would have happened!" "..." "What's with that look? Was I wrong?" "I don't know if you were wrong or not," Ian said, reaching out to pat Mélusine's head. "But if you're worried Artoria will punish you, I don't think you need to be. Artoria never minds these things—" "But I broke her sword," Mélusine said with self-reproach. "Clearly, she had already called a halt." "But I still..." "But she was willing to do it because she acknowledged you, right?" Ian recalled Artoria's movements, then mimicked her, raising his other hand in a sword-wielding posture. "Artoria was only willing to raise her sword without hesitation because she genuinely believed you could withstand her attack. She has already accepted you as a member of the Round Table."

"..." Mélusine pushed Ian's hand off her head. She looked up and stared at him. "I'm warning you, don't touch my head. Otherwise, I'll bite you to death!" "..." As Mélusine spoke, she saw Ian extend his hand toward her again. "What are you doing?" "Letting you bite me. Mélusine, your head is really comfortable to pat." "You!"

Mélusine felt she had truly met her natural enemy. She couldn't bite through his hand, nor could she stop him from giving her head pats. "Honestly, why did I have to meet you?!" "Perhaps it's fate." "Fate my ass!" "Has another member joined the Round Table?" a familiar voice rang out. The bickering Mélusine and the enjoying Ian both looked over. It was the still-slovenly Merlin. In an instant, Ian felt an uncontrollable anger welling up. He had an instinctive dislike for this man; otherwise, he wouldn't have punched him the moment they first met. Merlin quickly spoke up. "Now, don't be hasty! I'll leave as soon as we're done talking! I absolutely won't hold you up!"

"Then what do you want to talk about?" Mélusine asked, looking at the sloppily dressed man who had appeared out of nowhere. "I've only just arrived in Camelot myself. I can't answer anything for you." "No," Merlin shook his head. "You definitely know, Mélusine. Because what I want to ask about... concerns you. You... how exactly did you appear in Britain?"

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