The Battle against the White Dragon Opens Amidst the Princess's Unease.

[This is a war that will determine the fate of Britain.]

[As long as Vortigern is defeated, Camelot's future will usher in a new beginning.]

[But after enduring hardships to get here, you don't feel excited. Instead, you taste a faint bitterness.]

[This isn't quite the feeling you expected.]

[After thinking about it, before the decisive battle with Vortigern began, you wrote a letter to Morgan.]

[But you don't know that this letter, carrying your feelings, will have an irreversible impact on her.]

"Ian—!"

"I command you to come back to me!"

With a cry, Morgan suddenly sat up in bed, gasping for air.

In the empty room, only light fell through the stained-glass windows.

Everything was dyed pure white by the moonlight, as if falling into a spiritual sea of stars.

The princess, covered in cold sweat, looked at the empty space beside her and subconsciously reached out to fumble on the round table by the bed.

Only when she touched two letters that had been opened dozens of times did she breathe a sigh of relief.

One was Ian's request for her to forgive Agravain.

The other was a new letter received today.

What was it—?

She remembered.

Ian said he finally had a chance to let that woman defeat Vortigern, right?

Soon, she would ascend to the throne of power, just as he promised.

But—Morgan, using the moonlight, looked at the letter written in dignified script in her hand, her hand trembling uncontrollably.

Why was she so uneasy?

Everything was developing in the direction she wanted—that woman would soon fall from the throne.

But her heart didn't feel any joy.

The proud princess put the letter back.

Her slender fingers slowly slipped under the quilt and began to play a solo nocturne in the dark.

She was imitating his way to provide herself with pleasure, but the result was that her body had no interest at all.

Morgan stopped—she was questioning life a little.

Was it so difficult to please herself?

She had never noticed it before.

Forget it.

When he came back, she would lock him in the room.

She would use the most powerful magic to prevent him from leaving for the rest of his life, cutting off his contact with everyone.

Then she would use her body to turn him into a complete waste.

Every day, his mind would only have the thought of standing in front of her to provide pleasure.

That way, she wouldn't have to worry anymore.

Morgan thought so, but unsurprisingly, she had insomnia.

She began to miss the feeling of someone holding her waist and whispering sweet words in her ear.

[You don't know Morgan's feelings at this moment.]

[You only feel the wound on your back aching faintly.]

[Artoria noticed this.]

[But you know this isn't the time to tell her—because it would make her stop Camelot's advance again.]

[That's not the result you want.]

"Mr. Ian, are you really alright?"

The naked king leaned in the man's arms, her green eyes only filled with his figure.

"Your forehead is covered in sweat."

"..."

Ian squeezed out a forced smile and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"It's nothing, maybe I just didn't rest well."

"Is that so?"

Artoria raised her head and gently kissed Ian.

"Then today, I'll be the only one moving."

"Mr. Ian... you just need to enjoy it."

Looking at the girl who sat up with a happy face, Ian's heart was extremely complicated.

He felt there was a fork in the road leading to different futures before him.

At the end of the war, what choice should he make?

Ian touched the girl's waist, but couldn't feel any basis for choice.

[The pace of the campaign will not stop because of this.]

[After crossing the river, you encountered Vortigern's forces.]

[Like you, these armies composed of foreign invaders also have extremely high military literacy.]

[You can no longer easily defeat the enemy as before. Instead, you need to handle each engagement more cautiously.]

[But this doesn't mean you can't win.]

[The Gaulish reinforcements obtained by Lancelot provided considerable assistance to you.]

[You are increasingly grateful that you didn't regard him as an enemy.]

[You are steady and step by step, gradually deepening into Vortigern's hinterland.]

[Lasting Honor+ has been replaced by Eternal Knight+: Your textbook military operations will be recorded in history, and future generations will sing the name of the Round Table Knights in epics.]

[Time slowly passes in this tense atmosphere.]

[It's time to formulate the final strategy.]

"Gentlemen."

Lancelot's fingers moved gently on the map, pointing to three locations in succession.

"I think this time, how about launching an attack in these three places at the same time?"

"Yes." Artoria looked at the location pointed by Lancelot and nodded.

"I think this is a good idea."

"And you?"

Lancelot looked at Ian.

"The king decides." Ian smiled slightly. "I'm only responsible for execution."

"Then it seems there are no objections."

Lancelot moved his fingers away from the map, his eyes sweeping over Ian and Artoria present.

"Since we have the same idea, let's make a little bet."

"Let's see who sees Vortigern first, how about that?"

"..."

"..."

Although no one answered, the actions of the three touching their sword hilts in unison were far more of an answer than any reply.

[You began to advance according to the formulated strategy.]

[This is the most difficult time—because Vortigern's troops know that if they don't resist desperately, the end waiting for them will definitely not be good.]

[But this is just a dying struggle.]

[Excalibur, Excalibur Galatine, and Arondight brought powerful blessings.]

[You advanced rapidly, singing triumphantly.]

[Vortigern's last troops gradually fell apart.]

[Artoria saw Vortigern first at a slightly faster speed—she always seemed to have extra luck in gambling.]

[With the blessing of the scorching sun, you were the second to arrive.]

[And although Lancelot was the last to arrive, he wasn't actually too slow.]

[However, none of you are in the mood to care about the outcome of this gamble.]

[Because Vortigern is sitting on the boulder in front of you, as if it were his own throne.]

[There are no knights or guards beside him.]

[He looks at you with a stern gaze, as if he were the one who had driven you to a dead end.]

"Heh, it's a little faster than I expected."

Vortigern, sitting on the boulder, said so, with a sword stuck in the ground beside him.

The old tyrant looked at the three who came with the same calm gaze as always.

"But unfortunately."

"It doesn't make any sense—coming here a minute early or a minute late won't change anything."

"Stop your mad words, Vortigern."

Artoria gripped Excalibur and pointed the sharpest blade at him on the throne.

"It won't make your death any greater."

Vortigern glanced at the blade in Artoria's hand and sneered.

"Heh, the holy sword borrowed from the lake?"

"If you want to defeat me with just that kind of thing, you underestimate me a little."

"What about this?"

Lancelot gripped Arondight and aimed the heavy blue blade at Vortigern.

"The traitor of Britain, can you still talk wildly?"

"Oh?"

"Another holy sword from the lake?" Vortigern straightened up.

"This is a little interesting."

"It's more than two."

Ian raised his Excalibur Galatine, completing the united enemy of the three holy swords from the lake.

"Vortigern, can you still laugh like this?"

"..."

[Vortigern finds that your voice seems a little familiar.]

[He stared at you for a long time.]

[Suddenly, he laughed.]

"Hahahaha!"

Vortigern's arrogant laughter came.

"It's really interesting!"

"You so-called Round Table Knights are so united at this time!"

Although he was old, Vortigern still had the arrogance that was no less than that of a young man.

He pulled his blade from the ground and became the attacker, rushing directly towards the three.

This was extraordinary bravery.

But Ian and others were not new to the battlefield.

Facing the aggressive Vortigern, none of the three showed fear.

On the contrary.

Everyone was ready to fight, just waiting for Vortigern to approach.

The outcome of the battle was also obvious.

First, the absolute stillness created by Arondight enveloped the attacking tyrant.

But due to the influence of sunlight.

This realm didn't completely stop Vortigern's movements—his strength was as formidable as the destruction he brought to Britain.

But it didn't matter.

Because there was more than one holy sword from the lake.

Under the sunlight, Excalibur Galatine achieved its maximum output potential.

Red flames burned in the realm of the moonlit lake, placing Vortigern's aged body into the scorching heat of the sun.

The previous duel allowed Ian and Lancelot to know how to cooperate with each other.

This was the Round Table Knights' alliance—a realm where the sun and moon coexisted, surrounding the tyrant.

In the intertwined control of flames and lake light, a powerful storm swept in.

"Sleep! Vortigern!"

Artoria thrust Excalibur into Vortigern's chest.

This was a combined blow from the three holy swords of the lake!

With the wind that pierced the sun and moon as the finale of the narrative!

However—

The fatal scene did not appear.

Vortigern looked at Excalibur thrust into his heart and laughed wildly again.

"Hahahaha!"

"Artoria, I told you you couldn't kill me!"

"Your identity is borrowed."

"Your blade is borrowed."

"Your knights are borrowed."

"Even your ideal is borrowed."

"You are just a puppet at the mercy of others, a pitiful and hateful knight."

"With everything you own being false, how can you defeat me, who symbolizes truth!"

In the moment of Vortigern's roar, a powerful force erupted from his body.

The three holy swords from the lake, which had been able to suppress him, were shaken off in an instant.

Ian and Lancelot were also thrown away by the air wave formed by this sudden eruption.

Only Artoria stood firm in place with her tough body.

Vortigern also revealed his shocking true face in this rebellious scene.

It was a white dragon as large as a mountain range.

Its claws were sharp and full of vigor, constantly emitting surging magic.

This was the body that the tyrant had brewed in mystery after years of lurking and searching.

The power of the dragon was vividly displayed at this moment.

It was an image that was exactly the same as Merlin's prophecy!

In comparison, Artoria, standing in front of him in a human body, seemed a little small.

"Ugh—!!!"

The white dragon roared, and the earth was filled with wind and flying rocks.

"Artoria!"

"You don't understand anything!"

"Everything you have is borrowed, and you can't continue the age of gods!"

"Only I can do this!"

This was a scene of suppression.

But—

Facing the white dragon's presumptuous words, Artoria did not take a step back.

She looked at the white dragon in front of her and suddenly smiled.

"Yes."

"I don't understand anything."

"After all, if I could have understood all this sooner, there probably wouldn't be a situation like this now."

"Throne, holy sword, knights."

"Everything I have is indeed borrowed."

"But Vortigern—"

Artoria raised her hand, as if to grasp the entire sky.

"No one has ever said that a borrowed ideal cannot be called an ideal, right?"

"In that distant dream, I saw countless people laughing for it."

"Such a scene cannot be wrong."

"Moreover—"

Artoria's eyes had a bit of girlish tenderness.

"The current me."

"Also has my own ideal."

The Knight King's words resounded through the sky, shaking open the white clouds in the sky.

A golden, shining pillar of light appeared from it.

The shining spear of the end, Rhongomyniad, descended upon the earth because of the king's determination!