Cut in Half

...So, I lost after all.

"Guinevere" slowly lay down on the ground, thinking to himself.

To be honest, he wasn't surprised by the result.

From a bystander's perspective, it was a defeat that shouldn't have happened.

His opponent was a leopard-headed fairy from the Fang Clan—strong, yes, but only at the average level for that clan. Hardly someone to be called formidable—just another grunt among the likes of Woodworth's forces. Stat-wise, he would probably fall somewhere between a D and a C in combat capability, which made him just one or two tiers above Guinevere.

That might sound impressive, but in reality, the difference wasn't insurmountable.

In fact, Guinevere had repeatedly simulated fights against similarly ranked opponents—one or two tiers above him—and emerged victorious, leveraging the Endless Trial and the iron weaponry's inherent advantage against fairies. In theory, he could challenge stronger enemies and win.

And now that he had accumulated more skills and treasures, his ability to punch above his weight should have increased, not diminished. Even though his "Chainsaw Man" skill wasn't fully charged and couldn't be used, his mastery—albeit incomplete—of the sword techniques granted by Supreme Art: My Style (Pseudo), along with the effect of Heavenfire, should've given him a fair chance.

At the very least, with good use of Endless Trial, he should've been able to win.

Theoretically, yes.

But the moment you bring up "theoretically," that's when you know something went wrong in practice.

And what went wrong... was Guinevere himself.

His opponent was stronger, but not overwhelmingly so. With a few more retries, he should have beaten him easily—this was nothing compared to the brutal fights he'd powered through before.

—And that was the crux of the problem.

In previous simulations, Guinevere had manually controlled his in-sim self through each bitter fight. But after gaining some of the memories belonging to his real identity as the Holy Sword Wielder, he realized something critical:

When he piloted his simulated self, he felt no pain. His actions and decisions weren't clouded by fear, hesitation, or agony. Even dying didn't shock him—it was like playing a game. No matter the situation, he always kept his cool.

This meant he could beat opponents far stronger than himself, because he never panicked.

But just because he could win in simulation didn't mean he could win in reality.

He had even considered deliberately throwing the match to convince Fairy Tristan not to send him into the slave-swordsman duel... but he couldn't do it.

Because the simulator had one major rule: no OOC behavior.

Even if the avatar was himself, he couldn't force his in-sim self to do something completely against his will—like suicide. Similarly, intentionally withholding abilities to get himself killed wasn't allowed either.

So there was only one thing "Guinevere" could do: stop helping.

He could stop controlling the simulation.

While most of the sensory-rich memories—such as combat experience and romantic encounters—had faded from his mind after ceasing to be a pseudo-servant, one specific detail he remembered clearly:

When he controlled the simulation directly, his in-sim self experienced the fight with a strange clarity.

The fear of facing a blade, the pain of torn flesh, the blood in the air, the sensation of clashing steel—all of it felt real. It granted his in-sim self an immense wealth of combat experience.

But there was something else too—an eerie presence that forced him to stay calm, to stay lucid.

He had always believed this was his own natural talent.

But once his two sets of memories merged, he realized it wasn't innate—it was himself, the real "Guinevere," acting as a cheat plug-in for his simulated self.

After enough battles fought in this enhanced state, his in-sim self eventually learned to enter that state on his own... even when not directly controlled.

But therein lay the issue.

If the real him had been the plug-in... then who was the plug-in for him?

Thus, the simulation—intended to perfectly reflect reality—was inherently flawed. It had lost its credibility as a reference point.

"Guinevere" could say with absolute certainty: if he were the real him, outside the box, in the real world... facing Fairy Lancelot in Gloucester without any support from a "more real" version of himself?

He'd have zero chance. Not one in ten thousand. Zero.

So the version of the simulation where he won and all the resulting outcomes—couldn't be trusted as a reflection of reality.

If he truly wanted the simulation to reflect reality, he needed to stop controlling it from the beginning, let his simulated self face this life trial alone.

That way, regardless of outcome, "Guinevere" would benefit.

If he won, then it would prove the duel was survivable.

If he lost, then Fairy Tristan would likely cancel his participation.

But even with all this foresight—this plan to win no matter what—once the simulation played out, "Guinevere" could only fall silent.

It was humiliating.

That was the only way to describe how he performed in the fight.

Though he hadn't fought often in person, he had real-life combat experience and a memory bank full of forged swordsmanship from countless simulated battles. He even had the pseudo version of Supreme Art: My Style. Maybe he hadn't practiced it fully, but at least the theory was solid, right?

But... none of it came through.

Nerves ruined everything. He fumbled the opening steps of his sword form. His footwork and breathing were off, throwing off his sword arc from the very first motion. He only corrected it on the second pass of his spin attack...

It might not sound like much, but in a battle to the death, even the tiniest flaw was fatal—especially against someone stronger.

And sure enough, the enemy exploited it immediately. The Fang Clan fairy's blade slipped right through Guinevere's stance, slicing off his wrist. Then, claws plunged into his chest, carving through his flesh and bones like tofu—ripping out his heart.

Then, right in front of him, crushed it in one hand.

The pain of a torn chest, the horror of his heart being crushed—it didn't destroy his will to fight, but it planted a seed of fear.

So when Endless Trial reset him for another try, his spirit was already broken.

Already inferior in strength, his fear-riddled second attempt was even worse. He made more mistakes.

And then came another brutal, traumatic death.

By the third time, the simulated Guinevere had completely lost his composure.

All his memorized sword techniques turned into mental mush. Fear made his hands shake so badly he could barely hold a sword. He even forgot he had the Heavenfire treasure—he turned and ran at the start of the fight.

And in battle, turning your back on your enemy means only one thing.

After watching a few more runs, the real "Guinevere" couldn't bear to look anymore. He skipped the rest of the fights and jumped straight to results.

The outcome didn't surprise him at all. Not even ten retries. On the ninth, his in-sim self lost the will to fight, Endless Trial failed, and the loss was locked in.

[Due to the failure of Endless Trial, you were bisected in the duel—cut cleanly in half.]

[Even as you died, your lower half remained standing.]

What a disaster...

"Guinevere" buried his face in his hands, pained.

[Due to your death, you can no longer interfere in this simulation. However, since your faction still has active characters, the simulation will continue.]

[Would you like to switch to Artoria's perspective to continue viewing the simulation?]

Guinevere silently clicked "Yes."

At the very least... he hoped Tristan wouldn't hurt Artoria now that he was gone...

[Due to your death, Artoria was overwhelmed with grief and committed suicide in prison.]

"..."

Guinevere stared at the screen in stunned silence.

[Simulation ended.]

[Compiling your life summary...]

[Your life was far too short—too short to leave anything worth remembering. Your journey ended in your very first battle, and even in that battle, your performance was full of flaws and completely pathetic, bitterly disappointing those who had high hopes for you.]

[As a nobody, your death meant nothing. But tragically, as the one person who influenced the Child of Prophecy, your shameful end dragged her to death with you, dooming Britain to a future without salvation.]

[Your simulation's life review: Death of a Clown.]

[Simulation Score: 0 points.]

[Due to the low score, no reward draw. You received: 5 Saint Quartz Fragments.]

A review like that... might as well be Garen building Lord Dominik's.

After a long silence, he finally turned off the screen and raised both hands to cover his face.

Truthfully, he'd seen this coming.

He'd always known he was a loser. It was only those early simulation successes that had gone to his head, making him think... maybe he wasn't so useless after all.

I knew it... I really am trash.

He sighed, deeply.

But then, he heard the sound of quiet sobbing beside him.

It was quickly suppressed, but he caught it.

It had to be Artoria—crying after receiving the memory of his tragic end.

He wanted to say something to comfort her... but he had no right to. In her timeline, he was still unaware of everything.

So he stayed silent.

After a long while, the screen in front of him lit up again:

[Simulation No. 1005 has concluded. Since more than half of players have chosen to continue, the next simulation will now begin.]

[Simulation No. 1006, start—]

[After meeting the Child of Prophecy in real life, you and Artoria were ambushed and captured by Fairy Knight Tristan, thrown into a prison in New Darlington...]

[The next day, before you are forced to participate in the slave-swordsman duel, Fairy Knight Tristan summons you once again to her room...]