It took an interesting amount of grace for one to slip around his slash and take only a gash across the cheek, but an even more interesting amount of beastlike capacity to do so while moving forward. Whether it was an act of reckless abandon or of overwhelming confidence, stranger things were still to come. First though, was something that could not be allowed. No simple sword attack, holy or otherwise, could be allowed to harm him. Surprising as Saber's decision to move inward was, the blade thrust itself was projected as always. A 45 degree rotation continuing his existing momentum, a paired sidestep, and he could easily clear something so simplistic in nature. Well... that should have happened. His movements occurred just as planned. What did not go as planned, was the outcome. There were two surprises─ one for each widening eye of Gilgamesh's. First came the sight of his own blood as that forward blade cleaved across his abdomen. Second, but no less important, was the realization that Saber's face had nothing but blood. He'd cut many a man and many a creature; he knew when the damage was dealt. In this case, however, he gazed upon that perfect face to see it unsullied... bar a few drops of blood? So, she had some regenerative capabilities, and here he was with an open gash in his gut. Impossible! How was he the wounded one while exerting himself against another? It was such a slight that he experienced an immediate fit of rage. Mana surged from his body, thick and oppressive in nature. It was not a purely conscious effort, but its effect was liable to force distance between himself and the Saber. "Your arrogance knows no bounds, Saber. As it stands, the only result of our meeting will be you groveling at my feet begging forgiveness while I drink from that grail!" he declared. Now that he was talking again, he had a wonderful idea. "Or perhaps that is the key to showing you the light? Yes, you may do well with a little display," the king continued as the blades in his hands returned from whence they came.

Medea seemed to be taking very kindly to Merlin's approach. Well, he never expected anything else. This was all derived from her subconscious. As such, it stood to reason that Merlin could do no wrong. What would come of this next, then? Submission functioned as the trigger to another lap directly to the Caster's lovebud. This was followed by another, another, and so on with less time spaced between each successive cycle. The end goal was clear, yet distant. Indeed, the true end had nothing to do with the goings-on. This, simply put, was mere preparation and entertainment.