When the nobles were being recalled back to the Capital, Artoria moved quietly behind the scenes. She secretly sent Krul into Londinium to keep an eye on Vortigern.
Something didn't sit right with her, why hadn't Vortigern raised his forces to crush the Pict separatists?
They were practically right on his doorstep, close enough to be wiped out in a single campaign.
That was the entire reason she had entrusted Londinium to him in the first place, while she herself held the Capital of Camelot and marshaled her armies in preparation for the decisive strike against Rome.
Unfortunately, that grand plan now had to be put on hold. Her homeland wasn't nearly as strong or as unified as she had believed.
Fractures were already spreading from within, worsened by the insidious infiltration of the Counter Force.
The Irish side especially had grown restless, stirring trouble and testing her patience.
Once she discovered the truth of Vortigern's situation, Artoria understood what she had to do.
Before even thinking about pushing into Rome, she would first need to consolidate her power, hammer down the cracks in her kingdom, and secure her own throne
In preparation for the worst-case scenario, she and Krul had already come to an agreement. Krul would set up the anchor at her location, ready for immediate activation the moment emergency struck.
If anything happened to Krul or if a powerful enemy appeared suddenly, Artoria could instantly recall and rally every force she could muster in the shortest possible time to respond.
Standing alone in the empty street of Londinium, Krul Tepes narrowed her eyes and surveyed the surroundings. No Saxons. No knights of Camelot patrolling the roads. Not even a single civilian wandering about. Only heavy, suffocating smoke lingered in the air, thick enough to sting her nose. She sniffed sharply and caught it—an overwhelming, powerful presence emanating from the cathedral nearby. Without hesitation, she strode toward it, her steps confident and unyielding.
But the moment she crossed the threshold, the world around her twisted. The cathedral dissolved into nothingness, and in its place sprawled a massive underground chamber. At its center lay a gigantic white dragon, chained brutally to the ground, its scales dulled by restraint but its presence impossible to ignore.
Vortigern.
His eyes cracked open at her arrival, the weight of his gaze heavy and exhausted. His voice rumbled out, strained and broken. "It's… a trap."
Krul already knew. The moment she felt the magic tug her into this place, she realized she had been teleported into an ambush. She gripped her Gungnir tightly, her knuckles whitening around the shaft as the sound of mocking laughter echoed across the chamber walls.
"Hah…! A vampire working for humans? What a disgrace to our kind, woman."
The voice carried contempt, and before Krul could even move, the air itself split apart. A storm of countless black lances shot toward her, tearing through the ground and stone as if they were paper.
Krul Tepes was no pushover. Her body dispersed into a crimson mist, slipping through the deadly barrage. In the blink of an eye, she reformed directly in front of her attacker—Altrouge Brunestud. Her heel lashed out in a brutal kick meant to smash her opponent down.
Yet her strike met nothing. Her leg passed through Altrouge's body as if she were kicking an illusion. The woman's lips curled into a disdainful sneer.
"Is this all you've got, defector?"
Krul's eyes burned. "I am not one of you, half-blood. Stop assuming I am. The Crimson Moon is not my creator—and you are nothing to me." Her voice dripped venom, furious at the arrogance of this woman daring to claim kinship.
Altrouge chuckled darkly, the sound echoing through the chamber like a predator circling prey. "Does that even matter? You bow to humans. That alone makes you inferior to us, no matter how pure your blood is."
Her smile twisted into something far more vicious, the word half-blood clearly cutting deep. Her crimson eyes glowed with the promise of slaughter, her killing intent thick enough to choke the air. Krul felt it instantly—Altrouge wanted to bleed her dry, to rip her apart and drink her to the last drop.
Krul didn't hesitate. Her grip tightened around Gungnir, and with ruthless force, she hurled the divine spear straight at Altrouge, aiming to pierce through her chest and silence her mocking once and for all.
The divine spear screamed through the air like a thunderbolt, its holy aura tearing the oppressive darkness apart in its path.
Gungnir was a weapon that did not miss its mark. The walls of the chamber groaned under its power, stone cracking and dust raining from the ceiling.
Altrouge did not flinch.
Her hand lifted lazily, palm open, and a torrent of shadow burst forth.
The spear collided with the abyssal tide, light and darkness clashing violently in a detonation that shook the very chamber.
Chains rattled, and Vortigern's monstrous body shifted under the shockwave, his growl reverberating like an earthquake.
Krul leapt through the smoke of the explosion, eyes locked on Altrouge.
She was already upon her, claws sprouting from her delicate fingers, each strike fueled with vampiric might strong enough to tear through steel.
Her swings came in a relentless storm, each aimed to rip Altrouge apart piece by piece.
But Altrouge was slippery, her form weaving between shadows, intangible one moment and solid the next.
She laughed as her body blurred, as if the chamber itself bent to her will. "Too slow, little girl. Do you really think a borrowed spear makes you my equal?"
Krul's fangs bared in fury, and in that instant, she twisted her hand.
Gungnir, thought lost in the clash, obeyed her command, its form materializing behind Altrouge like a phantom.
The spear lunged, the divine weapon obeying its mistress's will to never miss.
The tip sank deep into Altrouge's side.
For the first time, Altrouge's smirk faltered. Her crimson eyes widened, her lips curling into a feral snarl as ichor, dark as ink, spilled from the wound.
"You..." she hissed, staggering back, shadows rising in a frenzy around her. "How dare you wound me, traitor?!"
The chamber itself responded to her wrath, the black tide erupting outward in a storm that shredded stone like paper.
Krul was flung back, her body slamming into a broken pillar.
Pain flared through her ribs, but her grip on Gungnir did not waver.
And then...
A chain snapped.
The sound split the chamber like thunder, followed by a roar that shook the marrow of their bones.
Vortigern's wing twitched, the first of many shackles crumbling from sheer strain. His hollow eyes glared at the two vampires locked in combat.
Altrouge froze for only a moment, then a wicked smirk curled across her lips. "If that is truly your intent, so be it, traitor. You want an unfair fight? Then let me remind you how unfair this world really is."
Her cruel laughter echoed through the underground chamber, the sound bouncing off the cold stone walls.
In the same instant, two figures materialized at her side, her loyal knights, both Dead Apostle Ancestors, their presence dripping with menace.
Their pale, vampiric forms loomed forward, eyes glowing red with hunger as they glared at Vortigern and Krul Tepes. Their aura, though not as overwhelming as their mistress, still carried the crushing weight of monsters who had feasted on centuries of blood.
Fina-blood Svelten.
Rizo-Waal Strout.
Names that carried infamy, names that spelled disaster.
But Altrouge wasn't finished. This wasn't just two Ancestors at her command.
Behind her, the choking fog thickened, and the oppressive darkness swelled. The ground trembled as the mist coalesced into a sea of rotten flesh and bone, ten thousand undead soldiers manifesting in perfect formation, their hollow eyes burning faintly in the gloom.
Vortigern stiffened, his face darkening. He immediately realized how hopeless the numbers were. He was still weakened from his imprisonment, not even close to his peak. And now, he and Krul stood surrounded on all sides by Ancestors and an undead horde.
"Vampire," Altrouge called out mockingly, her voice seductive yet sharp, her crimson eyes gleaming with temptation, "serve me. It is useless for you to cling to King Arthur. Camelot will never give you a place. But with me? You would reign."
The offer was dripping with arrogance—because in her mind, victory was already hers.
Krul, however, only smirked back at her, her expression smug and unyielding. "Are you certain about this, half-blood? If you don't turn back now, regret will be the last thing you'll ever taste."
The word half-blood struck like a dagger.
Altrouge's face twisted with fury, her pride shredded in an instant. "How dare you, mongrel? I showed you generosity, and you spit in my face? Enough. I'll tear you apart and feed your corpse to my pets! Prepare to die!"
With a shriek of bloodlust, Altrouge led the charge, her army surging forward in a frenzy.
Vortigern roared, unleashing a torrent of hellish flame from his mouth, a blazing inferno that scorched the horde of vampires and undead alike. The chamber lit up with fire and screams.
Meanwhile, Krul Tepes leapt headlong to meet Altrouge herself. Their figures collided mid-charge, claws and fangs bared, the impact shaking the ground as two vampiric queens clashed in the shadows.