Chapter 82. The King Whose Eyes See Only You

Chapter 82. The King Whose Eyes See Only You

The confrontation between knights is often composed of two key factors.

First is the weapon;

Second is the knight themselves.

A good weapon can help a knight face a stronger enemy, while a poor weapon becomes a burden in the knight's hands.

But weapons cannot decide everything.

When the weapons of two knights are of the same caliber,

The determining factor of the battle's outcome is no longer the weapon, but the knight's personal ability.

Currently, Artoria is facing such a situation.

Arondight: The Unfading Light of the Lake and Excalibur: Sword of Promised Victory are both holy swords born from the lake.

The power of the blades between the two is equally matched; they are swords under the moonlight capable of countering one another.

Of course,

The King of Knights has no intention of battling Lancelot.

The reason lies in Ian's body encountering an issue once again.

In that case—

Artoria absolutely cannot ignore it.

She is the King of Camelot but, at the same time, a young maiden deeply in love with the one who has captured her heart.

Excalibur: Sword of Promised Victory is drawn.

Matching Excalibur Galatine: Sword of Revolving Victory, this is a sword blessed by the lake.

At noon, it cannot unleash its full power.

But to Artoria—

This is not an irreparable disadvantage.

She is the embodiment of the Red Dragon, bearing the heart of a dragon.

In places devoid of blessings, she compensates with her own mana;

In places where blessings abound, she amplifies them further.

Just like now.

The sword of moonlight wielded under the sun can still easily display its inherent strength.

(Note: I'm fairly certain the author misunderstood Excalibur.)

The young king sets aside all distractions, focusing entirely on the absolute stillness rushing toward her.

The sword swings.

The wind rises.

Everything falls silent.

Then, a tempest erupts violently.

It is a storm capable of sweeping away almost everything.

Before it, what is Arondight worth?

"Crack!"

Something shatters.

Artoria plants Excalibur: Sword of Promised Victory into the ground, silently gazing at the opposite end of the arena.

Lancelot has yet to recover his composure.

The power unleashed from Arondight: The Unfading Light of the Lake before the King of Knights lasted less than a second.

Just like Ian's situation,

Lancelot could clearly feel that his blade and Arthur's were on equal footing.

Then—

The reason for failure lies within himself.

The third rule of a duel—acknowledge your own defeat.

Lancelot sheathed the thick blue sword, then knelt before Arthur.

"I have lost."

This was the defeat of a foreign knight, yet no knight of Camelot cheered for it.

Because the life or death of the Shadow of the King of Knights weighed far more heavily on everyone's hearts.

[The duel was interrupted.]

[Artoria held you in her arms.]

[She brought you back to the camp that only the two of you could enter.]

[She temporarily bestowed Avalon upon you.]

[As the sheath of the Holy Sword, it possesses powerful healing abilities, capable even of negating the wicked curse Morgan had imbued into the dagger.]

[But ultimately, this was not something that belonged to you.]

[Thus, it could only restore you to a state of "consciousness."]

Ian slowly opened his eyes and saw Artoria looking at him intently.

"Sir Ian!"

The maiden, heedless of whether her voice might be overheard by the knights outside, cried out between sobs:

"I'm sorry!"

"I shouldn't have let you participate in this duel!"

"..."

Seeing Artoria crying with tears streaming down her face, Ian felt as though something was eating away at his heart.

He reached out and gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

"It's I who should apologize."

"Clearly, that so-called Lancelot dared to treat you with such disrespect, yet I couldn't teach him a lesson to vent your anger."

"There's no need for that!"

Artoria embraced Ian tightly.

"I don't need you to discipline others on my behalf over something like this."

"I will use my own way to prove myself!"

"Alright."

Ian weakly nodded, then tenderly ran his fingers through the golden, silky locks of the maiden.

"I know."

"I saw—it was your strike that tore through that attack, wasn't it?"

"Artoria, you fully deserve the title of King of Knights."

[You don't truly recognize Artoria as king but simply feel, from the depths of your heart, that her strength far exceeds your imagination.]

[What you don't know is how deeply ironic this statement is to Artoria.]

[The title of the prophesied king feels unbearably heavy to her.]

[Assassinations, challenges, one trouble after another endlessly arises.]

[And all of it is because she was born bound to be a king.]

["Maiden Prayer" has been replaced with "Maiden Awakening": your existence will forever remind Artoria of the decision she must make at the end of this war, and it will become a part of her very soul.]

[You are unaware of the turbulent undercurrents surging within Artoria's heart.]

[Your attention remains, to some extent, focused on the challenge Lancelot presented.]

[You've come up with an idea.]

[You decide to share it with Artoria.]

"Artoria."

"Sir Ian, what's the matter?" The maiden, struggling to suppress her emotions, raised her head to look at the man.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"No." Ian shook his head, signaling for Artoria not to worry.

"I feel fine."

"It's just—"

"What is it?" The maiden blinked her emerald green eyes, as vibrant as a forest.

"Sir Ian, you don't need to hesitate in front of me."

"With the bond we share..."

Artoria held Ian's hand, her face slightly flushed, looking both shy and radiant.

"There's no need to be overly concerned anymore."

Ian hesitated no further and immediately nodded.

"Yes, you're right."

"In that case—"

"Artoria."

"I want to have a private conversation with Lancelot. Would that be alright?"

[Artoria clearly didn't expect you to make such a request.]

[After all, you had just narrowly escaped death at the hands of Arondight.]

[If it were her, she wouldn't have said another word to Lancelot.]

[But regardless, she has always respected your decisions.]

"Alright, I understand."

Artoria nodded without hesitation.

"Sir Ian, if that's what you want to do, I will support you completely."

"Artoria..."

"..."

Before the maiden could react, she felt herself being kissed by the man.

But she wasn't startled in the least.

Because receiving a kiss like this was one of the few joys she could experience as a young maiden.

This was her only indulgence in life.

[Artoria has agreed to the meeting between you and Lancelot.]

[To ensure your safety, she temporarily entrusted Avalon—the sheath of the Holy Sword—to you until the meeting concludes.]

[However, you feel this precaution is unnecessary.]

[Because you can sense that Lancelot truly bears only the spirit of a challenger when he steps onto Britannian soil.]

[You met with Lancelot.]

[A meeting that would shape the course of the future battle has begun.]

"It seems you've recovered quite a bit."

Lancelot spoke with a hint of awkwardness.

"Fortunately, King Arthur intervened."

"Otherwise, I would have made a grave mistake... I sincerely apologize."

"It's alright."

Ian generously forgave Lancelot.

"Unleashing your full strength in a duel is a way of showing respect to your opponent."

"Moreover—"

"You knew I could withstand that kind of power, which is why you went all out, didn't you?"

"In that sense, perhaps the one at fault here is me."

"Haha."

Lancelot chuckled softly.

"Ian, as the victor, you certainly speak with ease."

"Compared to that, I seem cowardly and dismissive of you."

"Disregarding me is fine." Ian smiled gently.

"But whether it's now or in the future, please never underestimate the King of Camelot."

"Fair enough." Lancelot shrugged. "The victor's words are always correct."

"But—"

"Did you call me here just to say this?"

"Of course not."

Ian lifted the Excalibur Galatine that was beside him.

"Lancelot, your sword was also granted by the lake, wasn't it?"

"..."

Seeing Ian's posture, Lancelot also drew his Arondight.

"That's one way to put it, though not entirely accurate."

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"I wasn't the one who 'took' the sword from the lake."

Lancelot glanced at the pale blue blade in his hand, serene like a moonlit lake.

"I was a knight raised by the lake's spirits."

"They gifted me the Arondight so that I could wander the lands of France."

"I see."

Ian nodded, showing understanding.

"By your description, it shouldn't be called 'taken' but rather 'inherited,' shouldn't it?"

"Perhaps."

Lancelot seemed indifferent.

"Either way, it has accompanied me for a long time and is the weapon I am most accustomed to."

"If that's the case—"

Ian looked directly at Lancelot.

"Have you ever considered finding a new purpose for wielding the sword you inherited from the lake?"

"..."

Lancelot clearly caught the implication in Ian's words.

"Ian, just speak plainly."

"Very well—"

Having come this far, Ian no longer hid his intentions.

"Lancelot, fight for King Arthur."

"The Knights of the Round Table need the blade in your hand."

[You explained to Lancelot the reasons behind Camelot's campaign.]

[All conflicts ultimately point to Vortigern.]

[Of course, you didn't expect that after hearing these reasons, Lancelot would agree immediately.]

[After all, he is a knight of France, not of Britannia.]

[But as fate often enjoys toying with you,]

[The turn of events once again exceeded your expectations.]

"I understand."

Lancelot nodded after hearing your words.

"I accept everything."

"..."

Ian's silence made Lancelot slightly uneasy.

"What's with that look? Are you doubting my words?"

"... A little." Ian didn't deny it.

"Fine," Lancelot wasn't angry, "then let me add another reason."

"France and Britannia are separated only by a narrow strait."

"I can either wait to face enemies who might cross that strait in the future or act now, gather forces, and eliminate all threats at their source."

"Clearly, the latter is much more efficient."

"Does that satisfy your doubts?"

"Hmm... it does." Ian extended his hand. "I'm ready to fight alongside you."

Lancelot calmly smiled and grasped the offered hand.

"Let's give it our all."

"But before that—"

"May I ask you one more question?"

"Of course." Ian smiled in response.

"We're allies now, after all."

"Umu." Lancelot nodded.

"Then can you tell me, what exactly is the relationship between you and King Arthur?"

"..."

Ian hesitated for a moment before meeting Lancelot's gaze and answering:

"He is someone I would willingly lay down my life to protect, nothing more."

"Is that so..."

Lancelot offered an understanding smile.

"If a vow is made at the cost of one's life, then I can understand."

"Understand what?"

Ian looked slightly puzzled.

"Lancelot, are you implying something unusual?"

"Not particularly unusual."

Lancelot gestured with his sword toward the distance.

"I just feel that King Arthur's gaze seems to focus solely on you."

"Everything else appears secondary to this king."

"Umu... now that I know you share a life-and-death bond, it makes much more sense."

"..."

Hearing this, Ian felt a bit ticklish in the heart.

It took him a while to force a wry smile.

"Yes... a life-and-death bond."

That was the perfect way to describe his relationship with Artoria.

Every word carried a story.

[Camelot's elite forces resumed their campaign.]

[With Lancelot's addition, their strength surged dramatically.]

[This foreign knight truly possessed extraordinary skills.]

[Moreover, the convergence of three holy swords from the lake elevated the morale and aura of the army.]

[More and more knights flocked to join, and the reputation of the Round Table resonated across Britannia, reaching its zenith.]

[Your relationship with Artoria also grew increasingly intimate.]

[Time passed swiftly, marked by victories on the battlefield and moments shared together.]

[Finally, the day of reckoning with Vortigern arrived.]

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