"These Camelot bastards are as vile as they are useless. They don't dare face us in the open; all they do is build these damn castles. Even inside the city, every single one of them lives in a fortress."
At the foot of the hill, Loren stared up at the manor. It was built atop a modest incline, fortified like a miniature citadel. He listened to the disgruntled muttering of his subordinates but offered no reply, his brow furrowed as if he were waiting for something.
Before long, a scout rushed over.
"Sir! Our men have begun the operation. With the crowds in the city for the Selection Ceremony adding to the chaos, most of the nobles have barricaded themselves behind closed doors. The few who tried to send reinforcements were intercepted by our units."
"The man in black also sent word. The reinforcements from the foster father of Uther's son have been pinned down outside the city walls. They won't be arriving anytime soon."
Hearing this, Loren's furrowed brow finally relaxed, and a smirk played across his lips.
"In that case, send in all the remaining reserve squads. Leave only two teams on lookout. Launch a full-scale assault. We must take it before the sky—"
Before the word 'clears' could leave his mouth, the situation changed violently.
The tightly bolted gates of the hilltop manor suddenly swung open. A knight clad in silver armor, wielding a massive black greatsword, was the first to charge out. Behind him followed twenty fully armed knights.
A dozen Saxon soldiers nearby tried to rush them.
The knight in silver didn't even use his blade at first; he delivered a front kick so powerful that the lead Saxon was sent flying like a cannonball, crashing into the Saxon ranks. In the next breath, a single sweep of his sword cleaved another soldier apart.
The twenty-odd knights behind him moved with lethal efficiency, cutting down every Saxon within reach in an instant.
The gates slammed shut behind them. Led by the silver knight with the black sword, the small troop charged into the Saxon host like wolves among a flock of sheep. With the silver knight acting as the tip of the spear, they tore a path directly toward Loren's position.
"That's—?!"
Loren's pupils contracted sharply. He stared fixedly at the silver knight who was reaping lives amidst the crowd, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.
Though he couldn't see the man's face, his intuition screamed the truth.
This was absolutely Uther's son. This was Artorius—the man who had dared to charge unarmored into a town to save his sister and slay Loren's own brother. This was the destined King of Camelot!
Only such a man could display such gallantry among the cowards of Camelot.
"Good! Good! Good!"
Loren suddenly burst into a wide, jagged grin. It was impossible to tell if the moisture on his face was rain or tears of pure excitement.
"I knew I was right to come! I was right! A warrior like that... even if he weren't Uther's son, he would be worth risking everything to slay!"
"Dyck! Go tell all the chieftains! Forget the damn castle, and forget Guinevere! Kill him! Kill that silver knight with the black sword!"
Loren raised his hand, pointing across the battlefield at Artorius, his face twisted in a feral, ecstatic sneer.
"As long as we kill that man, it's worth it—even if every one of us dies here!"
A strike, another strike, and another...
The howling of the torrential rain, the screams of "For the Queen!" and "For the Tribe!", and the endless waves of soldiers throwing themselves forward in suicidal frenzy—these were the only things filling Artorius's sight and hearing.
Unlike the Saxons he had fought in the small town, who had shrunk back after a display of strength, these men fought as if possessed. They were utterly fearless; for every one he cut down, two more surged into the gap.
His silver armor was already covered in deep scratches. Fortunately, it was sturdy enough to deflect blows that would have otherwise maimed or killed him, though the jarring impact of each heavy hit was beginning to take its toll.
But that didn't matter now.
"Moore, Ryan, stay close to me."
Artorius decapitated a Saxon soldier with a clean sweep, then kicked the headless corpse into the oncoming crowd to stumble them. He stole a quick glance back.
"Don't worry about us, Young Master! We might not be as strong as you, but we aren't dead weight either. We won't die here."
"Just keep pushing forward, Young Master! Don't look back for us!"
Artorius gave them a deep, lingering look before turning back and charging down the hill with massive strides.
"ARTORIUS!!!"
Just as Artorius was carving a path through the Saxon ranks, a thunderous roar erupted. A massive brute, nearly two meters tall and encased in full plate armor, burst from the flank, swinging a colossal greataxe.
Artorius met the blow head-on.
CLANG!
The collision of steel rang out, sparks flying brilliantly even in the dark rain. The brute's axe was knocked upward by the sheer force of the parry.
Seizing the opening, Artorius twisted his wrist and slashed across the giant's chest. The blade shrieked against the metal, carving a deep furrow into the breastplate. The brute, having only just regained his balance, was forced back two steps.
Artorius lunged forward, grabbing the shaft of the axe with one hand. With the other, he reversed his grip on his sword, leading with the heavy pommel, and began slamming it into the brute's helmet.
Once, twice, three times...
The sound of metal striking metal echoed rhythmically as the giant's head snapped back repeatedly, his body swaying. By the fifth strike, his fingers lost their grip on the axe. Artorius drew his sword hand back slightly, then punched the man squarely in the chest with his gauntleted fist.
THUD!
The dull, heavy sound was startlingly clear in the rainy night. The two-meter-tall giant was sent flying backward, crashing into a cluster of soldiers over ten meters away.
Having finished him, Artorius snatched up the fallen greataxe and hurled it, cleaving through several Saxons in its path. He gave his sword a flourish and continued his advance.
The surrounding Saxon soldiers, seeing Artorius dispatch one of their chieftains with such casual ease, finally seemed to feel the icy touch of fear. They stopped their advance, backing away until a vacuum formed around him.
Just then, a furious scream erupted.
"What the hell are you afraid of?!"
Artorius stopped and turned his head.
The brute who had taken five pommel strikes to the head and a crushing blow to the chest was staggering back to his feet. He tore off his mangled helmet, revealing a head of red hair matted with blood.
There was no fear of death in his eyes, no sign of pain—only rage.
"He is Artorius! He is the Red Dragon! He is the son of Uther! He is the King of prophecy, the one destined to unite Camelot and the Celts! He is the one destined to defeat our White Dragon, the Sovereign who saved us from despair and gave us a future!"
"If we kill him, this island is ours! The future of this land will belong to our children!"
"Or do you intend to betray the Queen's mercy?! Do you want to be driven back to the continent to live like dogs, starving and wandering? Do you want your wives, children, and parents to suffer alongside you useless cowards?!"
The red-haired brute bellowed his defiance, charging blindly at Artorius.
Halfway through his charge, a heavy axe whistled through the air, shearing his head clean off his shoulders. The headless body of the giant kept running for two more paces, propelled by sheer momentum and will, before finally collapsing into a kneeling position at Artorius's feet and toppling over.
"Young Master?"
Ryan, holding a captured greataxe, looked at Artorius with uncertainty.
"The things he said..."
Artorius merely looked down at the headless corpse. He watched as the blood sprayed out, staining his silver armor crimson before being washed away by the relentless rain.
He then looked forward with an expressionless gaze. He saw the Saxons whose eyes were turning red again, shouting "For the Tribe!" and "For the Queen!" as they prepared another death-charge. He saw the Saxon commander watching him from the rear.
Artorius took a step forward.
"Continue."
As he moved, a hand pressed down on his shoulder. Artorius turned to see Moore looking at him.
"Young Master, let us clear the path for you."
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