What About My Role?

The experience of being a pseudo-Servant... was extremely strange.

Guinevere wasn't sure how other pseudo-Servants experienced it, but for him, it was nothing like what happened with Mash or Waver. It wasn't two voices in his head, nor a single body switching between two alternating wills. No one went dormant to hand over control. No—it was more like the two consciousnesses had fused completely into one.

Now, he held both sets of memories simultaneously: one from his cautious self unlocking the simulator in a dungeon cell, and one from the Guinevere of the Fourth Simulation—the weary, burdened ruler wielding the holy sword over a decade of hardship.

Both memories felt equally real. And from them, two distinct personas had merged, layering atop one another. His mannerisms and thought patterns were no longer solely his own—they were a blend, subtly tempered toward the middle.

The original Guinevere would've never made such a bold move just now. On the other hand, the Holy Sword-wielding Guinevere wouldn't have stopped at just a hug.

But perhaps that kind of fusion came naturally when both the summoned and the vessel were, in fact, the same person. And unlike certain red-clad archers who abhorred their past selves, Guinevere had no such hang-ups. As a result, his compatibility with this form of possession was near perfect.

And through the duality of these perspectives, he also gained... some peculiar insights.

So the simulator doesn't disappear after three uses...? Or wait—does it sometimes vanish mid-use?

He couldn't quite define the relationship between these two worlds. Were they stacked realities, one higher-dimensional than the other? Or parallel realms that simply shared memory data via simulation?

Guinevere leaned toward the second theory. He never really believed in the idea of having "crossed into someone else's story." Instead, he liked a theory he once read in some web novel:

All the endless stories scattered across infinite media were in fact true events from infinite parallel universes. Occasionally, fragments of information would leak into neighboring dimensions, sparking the imaginations of creators—who then unknowingly recreated real happenings through fiction.

Those moments of "creative inspiration"? That was just a steady stream of data from another reality. As for the plot holes and logic errors? Well, the info wasn't complete. The rest got patched together by fallible human minds—so naturally, some mistakes slipped through.

Sounded like a wishful fantasy. But hey—no one could prove it was wrong, right?

So Guinevere chose to believe it. He wanted to believe those stories that had once moved him deeply were real—that somewhere, in some far-off universe, they actually happened. Just like how people believe in karma because they want to believe justice exists.

People always believe the things they want to believe.

"Uh... hello?"

Ritsuka Fujimaru cautiously waved a hand in front of Guinevere's face.

"...Sorry. A lot just hit me all at once. I spaced out a bit."

Shaking himself free from his thoughts, Guinevere turned his attention back to her.

"Is something the matter?"

"Um... can I ask who you people are? And what exactly is going on here? Why is the whole city on fire?"

Ritsuka hesitated. "And that meteor shower just now—what was that about?"

"...Even if you ask me, I have no idea," Guinevere said, shaking his head lightly. "I was summoned here by coincidence. I didn't arrive much earlier than you. Just like you, I'm still trying to figure out what's going on."

"Oh! I might have an idea!"

Artoria suddenly raised her hand enthusiastically and recited her "backstory":

"It was a rabbit hole! I was chasing a strange white creature during my journey and fell into a rabbit hole. Next thing I knew—I was here!"

"Rabbit... hole?"

Ritsuka and Mash looked at each other, even more confused than before.

But before they could ask anything else, distant screams echoed across the ruins.

"Oh? Sounds like trouble."

Guinevere straightened.

"If you still have questions, let's settle whatever's happening over there first."

Ritsuka and Mash quickly agreed, and the group rushed toward the source of the screams—only to find a white-haired woman cornered by a group of skeletal soldiers, moments from death.

"Director! I'm going to help!"

Mash raised her shield and charged—but Guinevere was already there.

His sword carved a radiant arc through the air as he plunged into the swarm of skeletons, spinning like a whirlwind. In mere seconds, every enemy was reduced to scattered bones and silence.

"Wow... he's amazing!"

Even Mash, who had just been about to jump in herself, was stunned.

"Director! Are you okay?!"

Ritsuka rushed to the fallen Olga Marie.

"I'm fine. I'm not that fragile, you know," she snapped, clearly trying to mask her earlier fear.

"Just tell me what's going on here, already."

Mash, meanwhile, snuck closer to eavesdrop—only to hear a bunch of completely foreign terms: "Pseudo-Servant," "Master," "Command Seals"...

Wait. Command Seals? Masters? Servants?

She had seen those terms in the system intro earlier.

Artoria tilted her head in confusion, then perked up.

"Oh! I'm a Master too! Look, Guinevere, I even have Command Seals!"

She eagerly showed off the three crimson marks etched onto her hand.

"...I already noticed... But well, if you insist, let's go through the motions."

Guinevere cleared his throat, stepped forward, and solemnly asked:

"Tell me—are you my Master?"

"Eh?" Artoria blinked. "Am I supposed to say something here?"

"A nod is fine." He couldn't help but chuckle at her clueless expression, then gently took her hand.

"In that case, from now on—my sword shall serve you alone."

"...Wait, what the heck is this?" Olga Marie massaged her temples in disbelief. "Are you telling me you were originally Master and Servant pairs in a Holy Grail War?"

So Artoria gave her the rabbit hole explanation again.

"A rabbit hole? Are we seriously in some kind of Alice in Wonderland situation?"

As Olga Marie puzzled over that answer, Ritsuka's communicator crackled back to life. Dr. Roman appeared on the screen, reporting the damage to Chaldea.

When the topic shifted to sealing the injured 47 candidates from A-Team in cryostasis, Guinevere couldn't help but interject:

"...Hey, shouldn't Chaldea be full of top-tier talent? Out of 47 people, none of them happen to be long-lived or fantasy types with regenerative powers?"

"Eh?" Roman blinked. "Well... if they were the best of the best handpicked by the former director, maybe some of them are like that…"

"Then maybe check before freezing them, yeah? You don't wanna accidentally put someone on ice who could've healed on their own. That sort of mistake? I've heard of that happening."

He didn't say it aloud, but silently added: If you go ahead and freeze that psycho Beryl anyway, don't blame me. I did try.

Just as he was thinking that, Artoria leaned over curiously.

"Um... have I ever done something that dumb before?"

"...Not that I can recall," Guinevere replied after a beat. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, when you said 'idiot teammate'... I felt like the only possible candidate in the group was me..."

She scratched her cheek awkwardly.

He wanted to say glad to see your self-awareness is alive and well, but after two seconds of silence, he just shook his head.

"Of course not. Don't overthink it. You've always been one of the most important members of the team."

"Hey, what was that weird pause just now?!"

"...Sorry to interrupt," Olga Marie cut in again, clearly not used to this level of chaos. "You said 'rabbit hole,' but I take it you're not the Servant Alice? I've also never heard of a Servant summoning another Servant. Still—if you've helped us this much, may I assume your intentions are friendly?"

"Well, there's no reason to be hostile," Artoria said warmly. "Besides, Ritsuka and Mash are both sweet kids. I like them."

Olga Marie turned to Guinevere.

"True. Even if we ended up here for mysterious reasons, we likely have a mission to fulfill... but if my Master chooses to help you with this Singularity, then I will assist."

"...I don't know how you're drawing these conclusions so fast," Olga muttered, "but Chaldea appreciates the help. In that case, let's—"

"Director! Get out of there—Servant-class reaction inbound!"

"Too late," Guinevere said calmly.

As the sound of rattling chains echoed through the ruins, he drew his sword.

"They're already here. Artoria—support magic, now."

From the shadows of the burning wasteland, a voluptuous woman in a black cloak emerged, a twisted scythe in her hands.

"Well, well~ Looks like more prey wandered into my hunting ground—"

She didn't get to finish her line.

A burst of light flew across the battlefield. Guinevere's sword came crashing down with overwhelming force.

CLANG!

She barely managed to parry it, forced into a disheveled retreat.

"You bastard! Let me finish—"

Before she could say more, Guinevere's second strike was already upon her—faster than thought.

The sword flashed again. Blood gushed from her neck. Her eyes glazed over.

But Servants are Servants. In her final moments, she unleashed her Noble Phantasm, eyes glowing with a deadly curse:

"Don't underestimate me... turn to sto—!"

"Sorry," Guinevere interrupted. "High curse resistance."

With a clean vertical slash, he split her head—and with a burst of mana, her body disintegrated into particles of light.

Far away, someone watching from the shadows was completely stunned.

"Wait—she got one-shot?!"

"Then... what about my scene?!"