The ruins were smothered in a thick, choking shroud of dust.
Artorius leaned powerlessly against a half-collapsed wall. The armor over his chest was completely pulverized, revealing a mangled, bloody mess of flesh beneath. He sat motionless, looking for all the world like a man who had already breathed his last.
It was a long time before his fingers, encased in silver gauntlets and draped limply at his side, twitched. With a sudden, agonizing surge of effort, he reached up, grabbed his helmet, and wrenched it off, casting it aside.
"Cough... cough, cough!"
Deep crimson blood sprayed from his lips, splattering onto the mud and his thigh guards. Amidst the glaring scarlet, several distinct fragments of internal organs were visible.
"Heh... heh heh..."
Staring at the gore, Artorius couldn't help but let out a dry, hacking laugh. The movement pulled at his wounds, causing him to retch up more blood mixed with visceral shards. He threw his head back, gasping for air like a drowning man.
"I'm actually... going to die."
He could feel his life force draining away like water through a sieve. An inescapable, crushing fatigue clouded his mind. Memories from his childhood—those he had buried long ago—began to flicker before his eyes like a revolving lantern.
"So... am I really King Arthur?"
Ultimately, it didn't matter. Whether he was Arthur or not, his life was ending here.
Suddenly, Artorius forced his hand upward. Ignoring the excruciating agony in his chest and the deathly lethargy in his limbs, he braced himself against the jagged ruins and tried to climb to his feet.
"Hah... hah..."
Exerting every ounce of strength, he managed to stand. But he had only taken a single step when his legs failed him. He crashed to his knees, bracing himself with his hands as he vomited more blood.
He tried to crawl up again, his teeth gritted in a feral snarl, but his muscles simply wouldn't respond. After several failed attempts, he stared down at the bloody mess on the ground. He clenched his fist, preparing for one final, desperate push.
"Enough!"
A young woman's voice, laced with sharp anger, rang out. It sounded identical to the voice that had interrupted the dragon's pressure earlier.
Artorius looked up.
Through the haze of dust, a tall woman in a magnificent gown approached him. She wore a crown set with sapphires, and a delicate veil concealed her face. She knelt before him, cradling his face in her hands.
Their eyes met. Though the veil obscured her features, Artorius could feel the raw, aching pain in her gaze—she was mourning for him.
"How long do you intend to keep up this stubborn front?"
"Who... are you?"
Artorius spoke with great difficulty, the words tearing at his lungs. He lowered his head to cough up more blood, but as he struggled to look back up, the veiled woman suddenly leaned in close.
The pain had numbed Artorius's senses to the point where he felt almost nothing. It was only after a long moment, staring at the veil so close to his own eyes, that he realized what was happening.
In that instant, a cool, refreshing liquid flowed into his mouth. Instinctively, his throat moved, and he swallowed.
Then...
THUMP!
Just as it had been in the dream when Merly fed him what she called a "reward," Artorius felt his heart—which had slowed to a faint, erratic beat—shudder violently. Then, it began to thrum with explosive power, pumping blood through his veins like a high-pressure engine.
The wound in his chest and the internal damage wrought by the White Dragon's pressure and Loren's strike began to knit back together at a visible rate.
Color returned to his pallid face. Strength flooded back into his limbs. His parched mana reserves began to geyser upward with every heartbeat, and an indescribable sense of power surged through his entire being.
By the time their lips parted, Artorius had finally regained his senses.
"Who are you?"
The woman in the black veil said nothing. She simply stood, watching him silently for a few seconds—observing the life returning to his eyes—before turning and vanishing into the darkness.
Artorius stared blankly at her retreating back. It took several seconds and the distant sound of clashing steel to snap him back to reality.
He shook his head, casting aside all unnecessary thoughts. He stood up and squeezed his fist, marveling at the unprecedented power thrumming through his body. Without hesitation, he stepped out of the ruins.
A gust of wind swept through, clearing the lingering dust.
A hundred meters away, he saw the battlefield. The mysterious figure in black was locked in a fierce duel with Loren.
"Is that... the woman from two nights ago?"
Artorius paused only for a moment to retrieve his black sword. Then, he accelerated, charging toward the center of the fray.
"Hey!"
Both Loren and the black-clad figure froze. Their blades collided and threw them apart, and both turned to look at Artorius in unison.
Artorius slammed his foot into the ground, leaving a swirl of azure wind in his wake. In the blink of an eye, he was upon Loren like a launched shell, his sword descending in a massive arc.
"Strike Air!"
The moment the black sword slammed into Loren's guard, a vacuum blade of wind exploded, engulfing the Saxon leader.
Loren's armor shattered instantly. Only a desperate surge of black mana around his body prevented him from being shredded by the vortex.
Artorius pressed the attack, his blade raining down on Loren.
The air was filled with the frantic clatter of steel. Loren was forced back, step by agonizing step, as he tried to parry the onslaught. But Artorius was only getting faster; his strikes were becoming heavier with every passing second.
When Loren was finally backed against a crumbling wall, Artorius raised his sword with both hands and brought it down.
"Strike Air!"
BOOM!
The visible vortex of wind swallowed Loren and the wall behind him, obliterating the masonry. Loren's body was sent flying, crashing deep into a bank of smoke-filled rubble.
Artorius prepared to follow him in.
The sound of crunching stone stopped him. A second later, a blood-soaked Loren, his clothes in tatters, burst from the debris. His greatsword glowed with a black light that seemed to devour the surrounding air as he swung at Artorius.
Artorius met it with his wind-wrapped blade.
BOOM—!!!
The devouring black mana collided with the pale blue wind. They held in a stalemate for half a second before detonating, sending a shockwave that leveled everything within a twenty-meter radius.
At the center of the explosion, the black light and the wind intertwined.
The two fought like human monsters. Every exchange caused massive destruction—houses collapsed, the earth shattered, and the air itself seemed to scream. Everywhere they moved was rendered into a wasteland.
But slowly, the tide turned.
Loren's movements began to sluggish. His skin started to show jagged, pitch-black cracks, like overfired porcelain unable to contain the terrifying power he had summoned. Artorius, conversely, was reaching a fever pitch of speed and strength.
Suddenly, Artorius caught a gap in Loren's swing. The wind on his blade erupted, knocking Loren's weapon and arm aside. Gripping his hilt with both hands, Artorius thrust the point straight at Loren's heart.
Pshh!
The blade transfixed his chest. The black glow on Loren's sword instantly flickered out.
Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Loren's sword arm fell limp. He stared blankly at the boy before him—the youth with messy blonde hair and an expressionless face.
In the next heartbeat, the wind exploded from within the blade. Loren's body was torn apart by the vortex.
Artorius lowered his sword. He turned and looked up at the crimson slit in the sky, meeting that divine gaze head-on.
"Heh."
After a long silence, the cold, arrogant laughter of the woman echoed in his mind again. There was no anger—only a cold, growing curiosity.
Then, the crimson eyes closed. The black clouds swirled back together, masking the starry sky once more.
Drip.
A raindrop fell onto Artorius's face. From the distance came the sound of galloping hooves and running feet. Artorius looked toward the source: a large contingent of knights was racing toward him.
"Brother?!"
Artoria didn't even wait for her horse to stop before she vaulted from the saddle, sprinting toward him and throwing her arms around him.
"Brother, are you okay?!"
Artorius raised his free hand, instinctively steadying his sister by her waist. He was about to speak when heavy footsteps approached from the side.
"Artorius?!"
Kay, Bedivere, and a handsome young man who shared Bedivere's features appeared at the edge of the battlefield, leading a group of armored, blood-stained knights.
"Are you alright?!" Kay ran over, her eyes full of worry and guilt. "There were Saxons causing chaos in the city, and we were delayed on the road. We..."
"It's fine. It's over now."
Artorius glanced at the Saxon soldiers nearby. Since Loren's death and the disappearance of the dragon's gaze, they had lost all will to fight, collapsing to the ground in despair. He then looked at Moore, who was limping toward him.
"Moore. How are the men?"
"Thirteen dead." Moore's eyes were bloodshot, his face wet with a mixture of rain and tears.
The torrential rain resumed in earnest, nearly swallowing Moore's voice. Artoria felt her brother's grip on her waist tighten significantly.
"Brother..."
"Lia."
Before Artoria could offer any comfort, Artorius spoke. His voice was raspy.
"You asked me once... what should we do if we try to yield, but the enemy still pursues us relentlessly?"
"Yes."
"Do you know why I've never had a single enemy in all the years I've been growing up?"
"Why?" Artoria looked up at his stoic face.
"Because anyone who has a grudge against your brother doesn't live to see the next morning."
Artorius let go of her, gently pushing her aside. He turned to face the surviving knights who had gathered around him.
"Can you still swing your swords?"
"WE CAN!"
Moore, Ryan, and the others understood exactly what he meant. A fire called 'revenge' burned in their eyes.
"Good."
Artorius let out a cold, sharp grin. He looked at the knights Artoria had brought—men he had grown up with, or who had watched him grow up.
"Roy. Willy. Elvis..."
He called out the names of the lead knights, his gaze sweeping over every man present.
"Right now, I am going to avenge our fallen brothers. Who is coming with me?"
"Artorius."
Sir Ector's voice cut through the air. The old knight rode forward and removed his helmet. "I know your heart is heavy, but you are exhausted. Furthermore, old Helmut only has one son, Jayn, and we have no proof—"
Artorius didn't even look at his foster father. He kept his eyes on the knights. Before Ector could finish, he asked again, his voice like ice:
"Answer me. Are you willing to stand by my side and take blood for our brothers?!"
He roared the final words.
The wind and rain lashed at them. Ector opened his mouth to speak, but ultimately fell silent. One by one, the knights began to dismount.
"WE ARE!"
The response was almost perfectly in unison, carrying the weight of a suppressed, explosive fury.
"Good."
Artorius turned and began walking toward the Helmut estate. Moore, Ryan, Elvis, and all the knights under Ector's banner followed him silently into the curtain of rain, vanishing from sight.
Lucan and Bart, who had brought out their own knights, watched their retreating backs. An inexplicable urge surged within them.
Follow him.
Only their sense of duty and reason kept them from joining the boy. They signaled their own men to stay back, though the knights were clearly restless.
"Father, don't be angry. Artorius is just..."
"Angry?" Ector looked at his daughter and suddenly laughed. "Why would I be angry?"
Kay froze. She had never seen her stern, traditional father smile so radiantly. It was a look she had never seen in her life.
Ector turned back to the rain where Artorius had disappeared. His laughter grew, and tears began to mingle with the rain on his cheeks.
"That courage to do what others dare not... that kingly aura that makes men follow him into the impossible without a second thought... he is exactly like His Majesty was!"
"Your Majesty, do you see? I did not fail your trust! Your son is as perfect as you were! He is a natural-born King!"
Kay stared at her father, who was alternating between laughter and tears, completely losing his usual composure.
Lucan, Bedivere, Bart, and the others looked at Ector in shock. Then, as if a realization had struck them like a bolt of lightning, Lucan and Bart turned and bellowed orders to their men. They immediately led their knights into the rain, chasing after the path Artorius had taken.
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